


Angels in the River

by mydearestlove



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Canon, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sizzy - Freeform, Smut, a little smut, clace, eventual smut if I get brave enough, i worked hard on the humor, please give Simon some love, sarcastic wit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 58,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearestlove/pseuds/mydearestlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary is in no position for romance. In hiding with her mother Jocelyn, Clary finds herself in a downward spiral of love, lust, and fear after she meets mysterious Jace Herondale and her life takes a terrifying twist. When a stranger poses a threat to her safety, Jace and Clary grow closer, and Clary starts to uncover the real Jace. As outside forces threaten to tear them apart, Clary and Jace start to wonder - Can they save each other? AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for popping in! This story holds a lot of my heart in it and it's a story I'm actually proud of, for once. I'm working on other works but for now - enjoy!

This wasn't where she wanted to be. On the first warm day of spring, the sun illuminating the delicate blooming daffodils and wildflowers, Clary Fairchild was stuck inside the bright fluorescent lighting of a 24-Hour Photo, Pharmacy, and Convenience Store. It was cleverly named the Duck In n' Go, bearing images of a yellow cartoon duck with a camera around its neck everywhere you looked. The lights gave her a headache and the endless dinging of cash registers and squeaking of shoes made her flirt with the idea of a nervous breakdown. It was all so asinine and routine.  
She wasn't even supposed to be scheduled for work today! She should be out there, in the warmth, getting ice cream or taking a nap or sketching the flowers. Her fingers itched to draw the purple henbit and the yellow dandelions; damn Pauline for asking her to cover her shift. She knew Clary was too nice to say no.  
"Ahem." A woman cleared her throat loudly and angrily tapped the silver bell on the counter in front of Clary, making it ring harshly.  
"Oh!" Clary jumped, startled out of her reverie, and knocked over a cup full of pens. "I'm so sorry! How may I help you today?" The woman was heavyset, with small, pursed lips twisted to the side in annoyance. She had mousy brown hair pulled back with a scruncï and toted a bag so large that Clary imagined she could crawl inside and escape.  
"I need to pay for these photos I just developed." She slid a package onto the counter. Sifting through photos, Clary attempted small talk.  
"Wow, these are beautiful photos of Times Square, did you recently visit New York-?"  
"Could you just hurry and ring me up? I've waited long enough already."  
"Of course, I'm so sorry for the wait." Clary apologized, feeling her face blush red with embarrassment. "That will be $5.67, please."  
Clary slid the woman's debit card, and returned the photos. As she watched the woman flounce away, she imagined herself sneaking into the tote and being carted outside to freedom as a stowaway. She had little time to daydream, however, as another customer slid a package of photos onto the counter.  
She didn't even glance up as she slid the photos out of the package and began sifting through them. She didn't get far before she froze. As she was shuffling the pictures, she noticed that several were semi-nude photographs of a fair-haired young man. He was wearing low-slung boxers, stretched out on a large mahogany bed, with his golden hair fanned out slightly on the white down pillow. Clary felt heat growing in her cheeks as she snuck a peek upwards through her lashes.  
Yep. Of course. It was the man from the photographs, standing casually with his hands in his pockets, as if he traumatizes a convenience store clerk with semi-nude photographs every day. He was smirking slightly, the left corner of his mouth turned up in amusement.  
"Like what you see?" He asked in jest, nodding towards the fanned out photographs.  
"Um, I-I wasn't looking, I, uh..." Clary struggled for a polite response, nervously gathering her red curls off her neck and into a bun. The boy laughed, tossing his hair back confidently.  
"Don't worry about it, sweetheart, just tell me how much it'll be."  
Sweetheart?! Clary felt a surge of anger at being patronized by this stranger at her own job.  
"I'm not your sweetheart," she sneered, "and from the looks of things I wouldn't care to be. You don't have enough room left in your ego for anything but yourself." She slammed the enter key on the cash register. "That'll be $7.87."  
"Of course I don't, I'm my own true love." He grinned and slid the photos back across the counter, then handed her a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change." He said with a wink.  
"Oh wow, two dollars and thirteen cents! I can buy two whole packs of gum with this; how ever can I repay you, kind sir?" She retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. To her surprise, he laughed, and when he smiled, Clary noticed that it made him look much less intimidating. Almost childlike.  
He removed a sheet of paper from a miniature legal pad in his pocket and scribbled something on it. Sidling up to Clary behind the counter with unsettling boldness, he spoke into her ear, "By calling me. I have a thing for redheads, you know," and placed the note in the breast-pocket of her uniform before sauntering off.  
Once he was out of sight, Clary pulled it out examined the piece of paper.  
It read,  
Jace - 555-2697


	2. Chapter 2

With a huff she crumpled the paper and shoved it into her purse under the counter. Who did this guy think he was? And who the hell comes to the Duck In to get raunchy photos developed? It's 2015 for Christ's sake, just snapchat your nudes if you wanna do that kind of thing. 

Clary shook her head, still wondering about the stranger. Jace. She turned the name over in her mouth, whispering it loud to try it out. Jace. It seemed to fit him well. Mentally she kicked herself for even giving him this much thought. Of course she wasn't going to call him, he was cocky and a pervert and had no concept of personal space or boundaries! Of course she wouldn't call him. And with that, Clary attempted to wipe him from her mind. 

The next three hours of her shift seemed to dredge on and on. Hardly anyone came to the photo counter anymore, and when they did they always seemed to be somewhat...eccentric. There was an elderly man wearing a blue velvet tracksuit and a gold chain. A teenage girl with white and pink streaks in her hair who popped her gum with the rapid intensity of machine gun fire. A boy who insisted on telling her the story behind every single picture he intended on developing. And there were many, many photos.

So when the clock finally read 4:15, she practically flew out the door, pausing only to punch her time card. The spring air was warm and inviting, and as Clary walked to her truck, she felt the wind gently lift the hair off the back of her neck. She tilted her face to the sun and imagined that the wind was whittling away all her worries, eroding all her negative thoughts the way it shaped the mountains over time. The wind carried Jace out of her thoughts for good.

Jace could not get the red-haired girl out of his mind. It drove him crazy; why was he so focused on this girl? He had seen her for all of 5 minutes. And it's not like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He could have any girl he wanted, and he knew it. So why did his mind always return to her?

Maybe because she hadn't called him. Jace wasn't used to being turned down. It had been 6 days since he'd given her his number, and he'd heard nothing back from the girl - Clary, her nametag said. He found himself wondering if Clary were short for anything. Was it a nickname for Claire? Short for Clarissa? Just plain Clary? The name seemed to fit her somehow, either way.

Jace lay in bed, absently flipping through pages of a book he had picked up from the library. Wuthering Heights. So far, he couldn't bring himself to read it. Partly because he found Catherine and Heathcliff absolutely horrid, and partly because he kept wondering about Clary. Finally, he decided that she had forgotten about the note. That's why she hadn't called! She had simply forgotten. He wasn't being rejected after all. 

Setting out to test his theory, Jace grabbed a plain white t-shirt out of his drawer and tugged it over his head, then pulled on his black leather boots and quickly laced them up. He said many silent prayer that she would actually be at work today, and then set off out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

There he was. As soon as she had stopped thinking about it for good, he showed up again. 

Clary stood behind the counter of the photo center, curly hair piled on top of her head and stuck through with a pencil. She hadn't slept well the past few nights and had dark circles under her large green eyes, making them seem even more deep set and bright.

Jace stood in the photo center, going through every single picture frame with painful slowness and feigned nonchalance, hoping she would notice him. Every now and then he would shoot a glance over his shoulder to look at her, but she was never looking back at him. 

Every time he turned around, Clary's eyes were on him. She spent several minutes at a time analyzing his appearance, his gait, his demeanor. She noticed how his fair hair curled slightly at the ends, falling just to his shoulders. She noticed how he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his black jeans, but kept his thumbs out. She noticed how his t-shirt hugged his frame in a way that made visible every dip in his muscular back. She noticed how she didn't want to notice these things. Occasionally he would look back at her, and she would quickly drop her eyes and pretend to busy herself with paperwork.

Jace began to get frustrated. Why wouldn't she notice him? He would pick up a picture frame and say loudly, and with great mock-interest, things like "Ah, yes. An 8x10 frame of this color would look just perfect!" and "Now, who would need a frame this big?"   
He continued doing this for several minutes and soon could hardly contain his laughter. He picked up a gold circular frame and began to comment through fits of soft chuckles, "Hmm, yes, this would look just perfect in-"

With an exaggerated sigh, Clary slammed down the paperwork she had been rifling through. 

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?" She asked sharply, raising her eyebrows. 

Jace turned around and grinned with the left side of his mouth, wielding the picture frame as he gestured. "Ah, yes actually. I'm looking for a picture frame to put a picture of my cat, Church, in. You see, I want to put it on my bedside table, but I'm just not entirely sure whether I want the gold frame or the pine wood. What do you think?" He sauntered his way up to the cash register, placing the two frames on the counter.

"I think you should get whichever one you want, pay, and then leave so I can have some peace." Clary crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her lips into a thin line. 

"Ouch, princess. That hurt. Is someone having a bad day?" Jace stuck his bottom lip out and spoke in a childlike voice as he reached across the counter and tilted Clary's chin up. She jerked it sharply out of his grasp and fixed him with a glare.

"What do you want, Jace?" Clary sighed. 

"Aha! So you remembered my name." Jace wiggled one eyebrow and smirked. God, why couldn't she do that? Clary had always been jealous of people who could raise one eyebrow at a time. It made them look mysterious. 

"So I remembered your name. It's an easy one. So what?"

"So, you cared enough to look at the note."

"I was curious."

"Naturally."

Clary squinted her eyes and fixed Jace with an exasperated look.

"My question is...why didn't you call?" Jace walked his fingers across the counter until they bumped into Clary's. She hesitated, then pulled her hand away.

Clary leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "My question is...why do you handle rejection so poorly?" 

"This, my dear, is not rejection." Jace leaned forward as well, until they were bumping noses. He stared amusedly into her narrowed green eyes and was taken aback by their intensity. He knew those eyes would stick with him. So fierce and beautiful. Clary stared back into his tawny, amber colored eyes and found herself admiring the way they seemed to be backlit, illuminated from the inside by a light, a fire.

Suddenly, Jace reached up and plucked the pencil from her hair, and her red curls spilled around her thin face like a waterfall.

"Let's try this again," he said, flipping over a piece of paper, "I'm Jace. This is my number." He scribbled the digits on the corner of the paper. "I would like you, Clary, to call me sometime. What do you say?" He smiled, and it brought his face to life with that childlike vulnerability; Clary was swept away by it. She hated how much she was interested in him. He was a pushy jerk! She shouldn't be so attracted to Jace. But she couldn't deny that she was. Something about the way he seemed so full of life. 

"We'll see." She said after a few moments hesitation, a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. She dropped her eyes and felt her cheeks start to redden. 

"Good enough for me," said Jace with a wink, strolling away with his shoulders back and chin up, leaving both picture frames lying on the counter.


	4. Chapter 4

After work, Clary went back to the apartment she shared with her best friend Simon. It was tiny, with two bedrooms and a bathroom, if you could even technically call them rooms. They were squat, perfectly square abodes with hardly enough room for a twin-size bed, a drawing table, and a small chest of drawers in Clary's. A door was set into the middle of the far left wall, and once opened, it led directly into Simon's room. 

Simon and Clary had been friends practically since birth, and he was like a brother to her. He had always been there for her when she had fallen and scraped her knee or when she had fought with her mother or been rejected by a crush. He had always been there to inspire her, to motivate her, to listen to her when she was upset or angry or sad. Simon was as wholly a part of her as she was of him. They were inseparable. Without Simon, Clary was as utterly lost as a child who has wandered away from their mother in a large mall. She would be empty without him, and he would be empty without her. They filled each other up, leaned on each other. They were each other. 

Clary's mother had seen this for 18 years. Had seen the way the two needed each other like oxygen; that's why she allowed Clary to buy an apartment with him without a second of hesitation. Of course Jocelyn, her mother, knew that Simon was in love with her daughter. Everyone knew it except Clary. But she trusted Simon, and knew he would never do a wrong thing against that girl. In fact, his love was most of the reason why Jocelyn so readily accepted the idea. Simon would never let anything bad happen to Clary, would never let any harm come to her by anyone or anything. He would do everything he could to protect her. Clary loved Simon, too, of course, but not in the way he desired.

"Clary? That you?" Simon's voice traveled in from the other side of the wall.

"Yeah, Simon." She called back half heartedly. Clary was absolutely exhausted and all she wanted to do was collapse into her bed, draw the covers up, and sleep for days. Too bad her nightmares had prevented nearly any sleep for the last week. With a sigh, she yanked off her shoes and dropped them on the floor beside the bed. They landed with a thud and a clang on top of her bag of colored pencils, sending them skattering and rolling across the floor. 

"Ugh," Clary groaned, flopping back onto the bed and throwing her arms over her face. She couldn't stop thinking about Jace, couldn't stop worrying about whether she was right or wrong in liking him, couldn't stop worrying about her nightmares, worry worry worry...

When she peeked her eyes open again, she saw Simon kneeling on the cheap linoleum floor, gathering up all the pencils she had spilled. When he had them all in his hands, he turned them all right side up and tapped them against the ground to straighten them before gently placing the pencils in her pack again. 

"You okay?" He asked softly, still kneeling beside her bed. She nodded, never lifting her head. 

"You're tired, aren't you? I hear you tossing and turning at night. Sometimes you shout." He paused for a few moments. "You know, Clary, if you're having nightmares...I mean...what I'm saying is, I'm always here you know? Right beside you. Anytime you need me." 

Clary smiled wanly, and reached a hand out to Simon. He took it gently in his. 

"Of course, Simon. If I need you, I'll come get you, okay? You don't have to worry about me." 

Simon nodded. "Do you want to talk about them? The nightmares?" He ventured. 

Clary shook her head no. "Not right now. I just...I can't right now." Her voice sounded tight, as if her throat were trying to squeeze shut. Simon patted her hand comfortingly. 

"Try to get some rest, okay Fairchild?" He smiled with the right side of his mouth, standing up and ruffling her red curls. As he turned to leave, he tripped over Clary's battered leather messenger bag, knocking papers and crumpled up gum wrappers and pens out across the floor. Two pieces of paper in particular stood out. Simon bent down and retrieved them, eyeing them suspiciously. 

"Who's...Jace?" He wrinkled his nose like he had smelled something foul, pushing his glasses up on his face. The way he said Jace's name was as if he had accidentally eaten something sour, and was now spitting it in the garbage bin. 

"Simon, get that look off your face." Clary sighed, rolling her eyes. "He's just some guy who came in at the photo center."

"Why did he give you his number twice?"

"Because the first time I didn't use it, so he came back. Very persistent." Clary smiled to herself.

"When was this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Like a week ago? Why does it matter, Simon? It wasn't a big deal." Clary narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Because I thought we told each other everything." Simon replied, looking hurt. 

"Oh, come on, Simon. Don't try to turn this into a fight." She hesitated, then spoke again in a gentler tone. "Please. I just want to go to bed."

He relented, and shot a sympathetic look in her direction. "Fine. Fine. If you need me, you know where I'll be." And with that, he disappeared through the door, shutting it softly behind him. 

Once Simon was gone, Clary reached under her green uniform blouse and unhooked her bra, slid the straps down her arms, and then flung it out and across the room. Under the covers, she shimmied out of her khaki pants and kicked them to the foot of the bed, lacking the energy to even get up and put on correct pajamas. She drew the quilts up to her chin and hugged her knees to her chest, letting her mind drift off into sleep...

Clary was standing in the middle of her childhood bedroom. All of the furniture had vanished, and the room was completely empty save for a small box resting on a table at the far end of the room, against the door. Clary slowly approached the box, a feeling of dread smothering her slowly, like hands circling her throat. The only way out of the room was past the box. She knew she had to get out, that it was urgent that she escape. Finally standing in front of the box, Clary realized to her horror that it was not a box at all, but a tiny coffin. As if seeing herself from above, Clary watched herself open the box slowly, a scream erupting from her throat as she took in the image of a tiny fair-haired baby resting inside. She clasped her hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut and as she did so, her scream seemed to shatter the walls, making them fall away in shards. When she opened them again, she was no longer in her bedroom, but in her old living room. Clary's mother was standing in the middle, head up, eyes defiant. A pale-haired man appeared from the shadows and began approaching her mother, with a look of malice. Her mother never moved an inch, never took her eyes from the man. Clary tried to scream for her mother to run but her voice seemed to be lodged in her throat. She watched in horror as the man wrapped his hands around her mothers throat-

Clary woke with a start, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Her heart was pounding and her hands shook as she brushed her hair away from her sticky face. It had been the same nightmare every night. Of course she knew there was no truth to it, Clary had never even seen her father. But she knew enough about what he had done, how he had been to feel absolute terror when her mother called her last week and confessed that she had seen a man at the bookstore who looked scarily like Clary's father, Valentine. Jocelyn had married Valentine when she was very young, and at the beginning, things were wonderful. Then it was as if a flip switched inside him. He became malicious, prone to fits of rage and violent mood swings. Jocelyn didn't want to admit that the love of her life was turning into a man she didn't know, a man she hated. She tried to stay, tried to reconcile him, make him love her again. He claimed that was why he acted the way he did, because he loved her too much. She lived in fear every single day, walking on eggshells, praying that she would be able to make it through another day. 

When Jocelyn miscarried her first child due to the abuse, she was so overcome with grief at the loss of her son that it was almost tangible to her. She could taste the sadness, feel it pervading her bones. She never left her bed. She hardly ate. She was skin and bones. She avoided Valentine as much as possible, for just the sight of him filled her with so much anger that it scared her. 

But when Jocelyn discovered she was pregnant with another child, she knew she had to get out. No more pretending. She couldn't let him take another child from her. In the black of night, Jocelyn fled, carrying a backpack on her back, left hand on her stomach, and right hand clutching a gun. 

Clary couldn't shake the feeling of dread that shook her to her very core. She felt nauseous, as if something bad were about to happen but she didn't know when or where. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and padded across the cool floor to her drawer, where she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The scratchy material of her uniform polo shirt was irritating, chafing against her skin. Clary didn't think she could make it another night without sleep, but the thought of reliving the nightmare once more was unthinkable. 

Silently, Clary eased open the door and crept into Simon's room. 

"Simon?" She whispered in a shaky voice. When he didn't stir, she shook him gently. "Simon."

He jolted awake with a grunt and opened his eyes; it took him a second or two to realize who was standing before him. 

"Clary? Are you okay, what's wrong?" He snatched his glasses from the bedside table and shoved them on face, sitting up and reaching for her. 

Clary shook her head no. "Can I sleep with you, Simon? I just...I just can't-" Her voice broke and she felt hot tears spilling over and onto her cheeks. 

"Shh, shh. It's okay. You're okay. C'mere, I'm here. It's okay." Simon murmured against her hair as he pulled her to his chest. She crawled into the bed and Simon gently tucked the covers up under her chin, gathering her against his chest. "It's okay now. I'm here, you're safe. Go to sleep, Clary." He squeezed his eyes shut. Her pain was his pain. All he wanted was to comfort her, to be there for her. He was dying to ask her what the nightmares were about but he knew now was not the time. 

He rocked her as she wept, stroking her long hair and and murmuring to her. Eventually he felt her still in his arms, her shoulders stopped shaking and she lay peacefully. His arm was falling asleep from where she was laying on it but he didn't dare move it for fear of waking her. Looking down, she appeared to be an angel at rest.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning sun slanted in through the window, resting on the sleeping figures of Simon and Clary. Clary lay half on top of Simon, with her head on his chest and her knees pulled up, on top of his legs. Simon had an arm flung over her body protectively, as if he were holding her there, keeping her safe. 

For the first night in a week, Clary slept.

Soon, the sunlight began to peek through her eyelids and she started to stir. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she sleepily uncoiled her body, stretching her legs out, straightening her back. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking lazily, until she realized that she was not in her bed. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked over to her right, taking in Simon's sleeping form. She had nearly forgotten about coming to him last night. 

Quietly, Clary slid out of bed, carefully replacing the covers around Simon's shoulders and brushing a stray brown curl out of his face. She stood for a moment admiring this boy who was nothing but good. Every inch of Simon was wholly good, full of gentleness and kindness. He was the one person in her life who had ever loved her for who she was. He had always, always stuck by her, and Clary loved him fiercely. She smiled down at him fondly and then made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

Every Saturday, it was somewhat of a tradition, whoever woke up first had to make breakfast. Real breakfast, with pancakes and bacon and eggs. Syrup, orange juice, biscuits, all the fixings. Saturdays were a blessing to them both, providing a much needed break from the stress of their weekday lives, and they wanted to start each one off on the right note. As Clary began scavenging for the correct bowls and pans and ingredients, she turned on the radio and hummed softly along. 

Simon awoke to an empty space beside him, and instantly longed for her warmth. He missed her faint scent of mint and lavender. He missed the way she curled up to him and the way her heartbeat was a metronome by which he fell asleep. He loved her. 

Simon reached across the bed, groping for his glasses. He slid them on and hopped out of bed, running a hand through his messy dark curls as he groggily made his way down the stairs, the smell of bacon beckoning him. 

He paused when he reached the last step. Clary was humming along to a song on the radio, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, swaying to the beat as she stirred more flour into the pancake batter. He noticed that she had a brush of flour smeared across her forehead and smiled. 

"Ouch, dammit!" She muttered as a speck of bacon grease popped her. She snatched her hand away and stuck her finger in her mouth to suck on, then resumed singing softly under her breath. Simon didn't think he had ever seen anything more beautiful. 

"Bacon, yes!" He cried, swooping in to grab a piece from the pile she had already cooked. 

"Uh-uh!" She slapped his hand away, but not before he had managed to shove a piece into his mouth. She grinned up at him, shaking her head in mock-reprimand.

"You should open a restaurant where you only serve breakfast. You make the world's best bacon, I swear." He tugged her ponytail, then made his way to the living room where he plopped down on the couch.

"It's called Waffle House, smartie." She called over her shoulder.

"Yeah but they serve other things, too! Your restaurant is strictly breakfast. Because you can make bacon, but as much as I hate to say it, you're not too fancy with, you know, like chicken and potatoes and vegetables and..."

"Okay, okay, I get it! I'm a bad cook." She laughed, smiling widely. "But at least I feed you, so you'd do well to hush if you want dinner tonight." 

Simon raised his hands in mock surrender before laying back on the sofa. 

"Breakfast is done, come get what you want." Clary announced a few minutes later, wiping her hands on her sweatpants. 

"Aw, but I just sat down!"

"Wah, wah, cry me a river you big baby," She retorted playfully as she grabbed her phone off the counter and headed out to the back patio with a piece of bacon hanging from her mouth. Clary plopped down on one of their cheap plastic patio chairs and wiped her greasy fingers down her pants before opening up her phone. She stared at the keypad for several moments, trying to make up her mind. Should she call Jace? The question had nagged at her relentlessly. Finally, she decided that she had to do it or it would drive her crazy. 

555-2697, her fingers dialed. She propped the phone between her shoulder and her ear and waited as it rang and rang. Then, a voice from the other end of the line.

"Hullo?" The voice was low and gruff, as if they had just been woken up and weren't entirely awake. 

"Hey, um, it's me." She began lamely, and mentally kicked herself. They weren't that familiar, they had spoken for all of 10 minutes, how would he know who "me" is? Ugh, she was such a loser. "Clary, I mean. The girl from the photo center."

"Who? Oh, Clary! The redhead right? Or was it blonde?" For some reason, Clary felt hurt that Jace hadn't bothered to remember even the simplest things about her. Why go through all that trouble for a girl you didn't even like enough to remember her name? 

But of course Jace had remembered her name. He remembered everything about her, her image stuck in his mind like a flashbulb. Her fiery hair, her piercing eyes, the way her freckles were like constellations across her cheeks and nose. He had been waiting for her call all night last night. 

"Redhead." Clary snapped back.

"Of course, of course, now it's coming back to me. So, you finally took me up on my offer, huh? I knew you'd come around." She could practically see him smirking through the phone. 

"Well I just figured if I didn't you'd continue to show up at my work everyday and disrupt the frame displays. Wouldn't want to explain it to my manager, you know."

"I'm sure he'd take it rather well. A stunningly handsome young man hanging around the store would do wonders for business."

"Ah, yes. Perhaps we could frame one of your, uh, self-portraits and hang them out front. They'd attract a veritable crowd I'm sure."

"Yes, I imagine they would. Why, you been thinking about them often, sweetheart?" God, he was so conceited. Clary rolled her eyes, remembering why she'd turned him down to begin with, but her cheeks grew hot anyway.

"In your dreams, buddy." She retorted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. 

He chuckled softly, "So, Little Red, would you care to get coffee with me this afternoon? I heard there's a new place downtown, I've been meaning to try it out."

Clary hesitated. "I, uh, I...well...um. Sure. Sure, yeah, I'll go. Is 1:00 okay?"

"Magnificent. I'll see you then."

And with that, he hung up. Clary shook her head. What had she gotten herself into now?

When she came back inside, Simon's head popped up from the couch, "who was that?" 

"No one." The way Simon had acted last night, she didn't feel like it was a good idea to mention Jace. "Just a friend, I'm going to get coffee with them this afternoon."

Simon's eyes narrowed as he shoved a hunk of pancake into his mouth. "Whuf it dat Jace weedo?" He asked around a mouthful of food. 

Clary nodded. "Yeah, but I don't want you to worry about it okay? I got this. And he's not a weirdo." She didn't know why she felt the need to defend him. She didn't even know him. And he definitely WAS a weirdo.

"Whatever you say," he replied, shoveling another bite into his mouth. Secretly, Simon was jealous. He had thought, stupidly and selfishly, that last night had meant something. That maybe she returned his feelings. He needed to stop thinking so much of himself. Clary came to him last night because she trusted him, and here he was trying to manipulate those actions for his own gain. 

"Yes, it is whatever I say," She teased, taking a seat beside him on the couch and ruffling his hair playfully. 

"Hey, Clary. Uh, last night...well you seemed really upset." Simon began, staring at the floor. "I just...I just really think it would help to talk about what's bothering you, you know?" 

Clary was silent for a long while, and Simon feared he had crossed a line. But eventually she spoke, very softly. 

"I keep dreaming of my father." Simon could hardly contain a gasp. He knew all about what had happened between Clary's mother and father before she was born. "Mom thinks he might be here. That he might have...found us."

"Then you have to get out, Clary. She needs to go, you both need to leave - "

"She said she refuses to let him hold her fear over her. She said she's tired of running. That she's tired of being scared." 

"Yeah, but Clary - "

"In my dream, I see my dead brother. He's just a little baby, laying in a teeny tiny baby coffin. I'm in my old bedroom, from when I was a little kid. And then all of a sudden, the scene switches. He's there. And he's choking her, strangling her but she won't fight back and I can't seem to speak or move to help her. I just have to watch." Her voice is frail, and she doesn't seem to be speaking to him so much as just out loud to herself.

"Clary, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Simon seemed at a loss for words. He couldn't think of anything to say but "I'm sorry." So useless.

"I'm so scared for her, Simon. I'm so scared." She admitted, turning to him. When she looked at him, her green eyes flared, full of urgency. 

"I'm sure she'll be alright, C. Your mom is the strongest woman I know. If he does show up, your mom would probably hit him with a skillet and then beat him with the refrigerator door." He smiled slightly, attempting to lighten the mood. It worked, and he got a small chuckle out of her. 

"You're probably right." She smiled sadly, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner. I just didn't know what to do about it myself, you know?"

"Don't worry, Fairchild. I have your back. Always. And your moms, too. You know she's like my mother, too." 

Clary nodded, overcome with gratitude once again. Simon always made everything better. Then she stood up, stretching up to the sky, yawning and balancing on her tiptoes. 

"I love you, Simon." She said. "I'm gonna go hop in the shower, so don't run the dishwasher. I need to get ready for this stupid thing later today. A date, or whatever it is." As she shuffled away, Simon caught her mumble, "boys are dumb," and smiled. Clary. Always so perfect for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Clary loved showers. It was if the water washed away not only the dirt and grime but also all the worries and the negative thoughts and memories. It all swirled down the drain. It was comforting to feel like if it all went wrong, she could just get in the shower and start over again. A clean slate. Brand new. 

Clary rinsed her long, thick hair, enjoying the feel of the foamy shampoo as it was washed down her back. She scrubbed the dirt from under her fingernails and the flour from her face. She even decided to shave her legs so that she could wear a skirt today. She told herself it was due to the unusually warm weather outside but a part of her wanted to dress up to impress Jace, since he'd never seen her in anything other than her unflattering uniform before. 

When she finished showering, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, spinning her bright hair up into a towel on top of her head and cinching another towel around her body like a dress. Simon always got a kick out of what he called "the towel hat that girls wear" and always asked her how she did it. Boys. Clary smiled to herself and made her way to her bedroom to pick out an outfit. She passed Simon who was doing the dishes by hand in the kitchen since she had asked him not to run the dishwasher and he called, "The towel-hat returns!" over his shoulder which made her laugh, a much needed feeling. 

Sifting through her closet and drawers, Clary began pulling articles of clothing out and tossing them on the bed. Once she had a sufficient pile, she pulled on a pair of underwear and one of her good bras, a nice white lace one with firm support - she had to look nice today - and stared at the clothes, trying to sort them into a cute outfit. First she tried on a long gray maxi skirt with a blue blouse, but immediately took it off because all it did was highlight how short she was. Then she tried a pair of nice, dark jeans and a green tank top, but that seemed too casual for what she was going for. Several outfit changes and muttered curse words later, she finally settled on something. A light blue chambray skater skirt with a pale yellow v-neck blouse tucked in, her pair of white high-top Chuck Taylor's and an old antique locket around her neck. It had her mother's picture in it and she never took it off. 

Satisfied, Clary nodded at her reflection in the mirror and sat down at her drawing table to apply what little makeup she did wear. It took all of five minutes: a dusting of powder, a thin line of black eyeliner and a coat of mascara. Checking the time on her phone, Clary saw that it was already 12:45. She needed to get going if she was going to make it to the coffee shop Jace was talking about. She thought she knew which one he was referring to, called The Black Orange, and hoped she was right as she said goodbye to Simon, kissed him on the cheek, and hopped into her truck. When she turned on the radio, her favorite song was on, instantly lifting her spirits. She cranked down her window since the air conditioner didn't work and let the wind dry her still-damp hair as she sang loudly along to the tune. 

She arrived at the coffee shop entirely too soon. It was 1:00 on the dot but Clary had the urge to simply back out of the parking spot and drive back home. Her stomach was twisting and turning nervously, and she hated herself for being so nervous. She should not be nervous around a guy like Jace, but something about him was so unsettling. She took a deep breath and attempted to settle her unruly hair before hopping out onto the gravel; as she slammed the door and stuck in her key to lock it, a large, tanned hand slapped the door beside her head and a voice crooned, "Nice ride," in her ear. Clary nearly jumped out of her skin a gave a tiny squeak, causing Jace to to laugh heartily. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said with a devious grin. 

"You didn't." Clary replied stubbornly, smoothing down the front of her skirt. Jace raised one eyebrow and popped his gum.

"I didn't?"

"Nope." 

"Okay, whatever you say," he relented, raising his hands in surrender as he laughed softly. "I mean it though, nice ride."

Thinking he was being sarcastic, Clary looked down, feeling her cheeks redden. She hated when people pointed out the fact that she wasn't exactly well off. "It's all I could afford, really. I got her at a used car lot but she runs perfectly and gets me where I need to go."

"No, I mean it. It's vintage. Very you." He winked. 

"How do you know what's 'very me'? We hardly know each other." Clary scoffed, giggling despite herself. 

"Because I...." He took a dramatic pause and leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. "....am a psychic."

Clary was hyper-aware of the lack of space between them. Her face got immediately hot and her pulse quickened as she looked up into his champagne-colored eyes. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she took a hearty step back and ran a nervous hand through her hair. 

Her uncomfortableness seemed to make Jace slightly uncomfortable as well. He chewed absently on his lip for a minute or two and they both stood in silence. Finally, his deep timbre filled the air between them. 

"Well, then, let's go inside shall we?" Jace never missed a beat, bouncing back to his arrogantly charming self again in no time. 

Clary nodded in agreement and walked to the front of the building, making sure to stand up straight and not slouch. When she reached out to grab the handle of the door, Jace swooped in and opened it for her before she could. 

"I'm not helpless!" She snapped, her eyebrows bunching together. 

"Of course you're not." Jace replied irritatingly; Clary huffed and stepped inside. The building was small and wooden, with a comfortingly cozy feel. Two friendly-looking, dark haired men were behind the counter making drinks in mismatched mugs, like the kind one would have in a home. A long, faded orange couch separated the middle of the room, with a wooden dining table and chairs to the right, and a few plush chairs to the left under a large abstract portrait of John Lennon illuminated by a soft spotlight. Clary wandered up to the counter and ordered a mocha latte from one of the men - Dmitriy, he was called - and took a seat on the inviting couch. Jace joined her momentarily with a mug and a teapot that he sat on the mahogany coffee table in front of them. 

"What did you get?" She asked.

"A tea called...Seattle Fog, I think."

"It smells like Fruit Loops, kinda." Clary observed, which made Jace chuckle softly. 

"I agree with you, it kinda does. Weird." He took a cautious sip. "It's good, though. You want to try?" He asked, holding it out to her. She shook her head no. 

"So, Clary F., what does the F stand for?" Jace asked before taking another sip. 

"What?" She asked, giving him an exasperated look. 

"Your nametag said 'Clary F.'" He explained patiently, as if speaking to a child. "What does the F stand for?"

"Fairchild." She replied. 

"Fairchild. Is Clary short for anything?" 

"Clarissa," she mumbled. She didn't much like her full name.

"Clarissa Fairchild," he repeated, nodding his head. "Very pretty. I like it."

Clary felt herself blush, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear self-consciously. "Thank you," she murmured. "Your turn. What's your full name?"

"Jace Herondale," he informed her, tossing his golden hair out of his face with a shake of his head. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a light, faded pair of blue jeans. Clary couldn't help but notice the way his arms were roped with muscles, but didn't appear bulky or buff. He was slim and graceful, but you could tell he had the strength of a lion. 

"Jace Herondale. Very pretty. I like it." She smirked and gave him a little nudge with her elbow. He smiled, and she couldn't help but admire it. He was unabashedly beautiful when he smiled. 

"Alright, alright." He said, still grinning. "Tell me about yourself, Clarissa."

"Please don't call me Clarissa. It's just Clary."

"Okay, Just Clary, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" 

"Anything. Everything. Something."

"Okay..." She began tentatively. "I'm 18. I work at the Duck In, as you obviously know." He clicked his tongue. "Um...I live with my best friend Simon, not far from here. I'm an artist. Uh....that's really all. I'm not that interesting." She shrugged. 

"An artist? I'm intrigued." He waggled an eyebrow at her. 

"I'm not very good, it's just a hobby. My mom is an actual, real-deal artist." 

"Well can I see? Don't just get me interested and leave me hanging, Clary." He prompted jokingly. 

"Uh, yeah give me a second." Clary pulled out her phone and scrolled until she found a picture of her mother's most recent painting. It was a woman with long red hair standing in a white nightgown amidst a forest of trees. Her hair was blowing in the wind and hundreds of yellow eyes peeked out from the darkness behind her; her ankles and wrists however were roped with thorns and vines, preventing her from going farther than the treeline.

"You painted this?" Jace exclaimed with obvious admiration.

"No, no, no! Nooooo, no way. This is my mother's." She clarified. She could never paint this beautifully in a million years. Besides, she was most comfortable as a paper and pencil artist.

"Well, it is certainly breathtaking, but I meant I'd like to see your work." 

"Sorry, but I can't show you that. It's sort of private." She looked down nervously.

"I understand. No pressure." He smiled and nudged her shoulder. Clary was surprised by his kindness. 

"You seem very-" He began, but Clary would never know what he thought she seemed, because her phone began ringing. It was her mother, Jocelyn. 

"One second, I need to take this. It's my mom." Clary apologized, then stood and retreated to the corner of the room to take the call. "Hello?"

Silence. 

"Hello? Mom?" Clary heard shuffling from the other end of the phone, filling the receiver with static. 

"Clary, listen to me." Her mothers voice finally came through the speakers urgently. "Don't come to the house. Go to your apartment, get Simon, and leave the city. Now. Do you hear me?"

"What? Mom, what are you-?"

"Just do it, Clary! Don't question me, just do as I say!" Jocelyn yelled. 

"Mom?! MOM!" But the line was already quiet. Clary quickly dialed the number back but it rang and rang and rang with no answer. Suddenly, it hit her like a bullet in the back. 

Her father. He had found them. 

Clary exhaled audibly, as if someone had punched her in the gut, and felt bile rising in her throat. Blinding fear overtook her. She had to get to her mother. 

"I'm so sorry, but I have to leave. I just-I have to leave right now, I'm sorry." Clary called to Jace as she began pushing her way around people to the front door. 

"What? Why? Wait - hey! Clary! Clary, where are you going?" He yelled, following her out the door. He noticed the panic written clearly all over her face. Her face was as pale as a sheet and her eyes were wide as golf balls. She looked wild, as if she might either throw up or tear your throat out in a split second. 

"Clary, is everything okay?" He asked urgently, grabbing her by the wrist. She pulled violently out of his grasp.

"No," she gasped, then hopped into the driver's seat of her truck. It started with a roar and she tore out of the parking lot. Jace couldn't let her go alone. He felt the crazy need to protect her. As she pulled away, gravel slinging, Jace sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him and jumped, landing on the back of her tailgate. He climbed his way into the bed of the truck, swaying dangerously, and banged on the back glass. The middle panel of the glass was capable of sliding open and shut to let in fresh air. 

Clary glanced behind her and gave a cry of exclamation at Jace's face peering through her glass as she tore down the road. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as he continued banging on the window. She reached back and unlocked the panel, sliding it open. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" She screamed, her face turning red, this time from anger and fear. 

"I couldn't let you go alone!" He screamed back over the roaring wind, wiggling in through the panel head-first. He deposited himself rather clumsily onto the bench seat of her pickup, and in any other situation it would have been laughable. Clary was dumbstruck. But she didn't have time to worry about Jace; all she had time to worry about was whether or not she could get to her mom in time. 

She tossed her phone into Jace's lap. "Call 911 and send them to 208 Rushing Parker Drive!" She barked at him. When he just stared at her dumbly she added, "Now!" 

He jolted into action, dialing the numbers and putting the phone to his ear as she tore down streets left and right, wheels screeching. "Tell them that there's a domestic disturbance and it's an emergency. Ask for an ambulance, too, she could need one." 

Before Jace could ask "Who could need one?", the operator picked up the phone. 

"911, what is your emergency?" 

"Um, my name is Jace Herondale, I need police and an ambulance at 208 Rushing Parker Drive. It's an emergency, please hurry." He relayed into the phone what Clary had told him. 

"Sir, could you please restate the address?"

"208 Rushing Parker Drive. Did you get that? 208 Rushing Parker Drive! Please hurry!" He hung up before the operator could ask him any more questions that he wouldn't know the answers to. His mind was swirling, trying to catch up with what was going on. When he looked up, Clary was whooping into a long driveway lined with yellow daffodils. The small house it led to was either off-white or slightly dingy pure white, with faded-blue wooden shutters and flower boxes in the window. It looked for all the world as if nothing was wrong, save for the front door hanging open ominously. 

Clary jumped out of the car as fast as she could and sprinted to the front door, only stopping to notice the unknown car parked across the street from her mothers house. It had to be Valentine's.


	7. Chapter 7

Right as she was about to step through the doorway, Clary felt herself jerked back across the threshold by a strong grip around her wrist. It was Jace. 

"Let go of me! I have to get in there!" She cried, struggling against his grip. 

"What is in there that's so urgent? Tell me so I can help. Please." Jace's eyes bore into hers with an intensity and urgency that made her relent. 

"My dad is in there, and he's found my mom. He could be killing her right now and you're stopping me from getting to her!" Clary was nearly in a rage. Not at Jace, but at her father. How dare he do this to them? How dare he seek them out after Jocelyn had had such a refreshing taste of safety and freedom for so long? Just, how dare he? 

Jace dropped Clary's arm immediately, his eyes hardening and his body tensing up. He pushed her behind him and began stalking in through the open door. 

"Stay behind me," He told Clary firmly, grabbing a shovel from a bucket of gardening tools Clary's mom kept beside the lawn. As they made their way silently through the house, Clary felt sicker with each step. A large book had been disrupted from its perch on the desk in the foyer, and lay facedown, pages fanned out on the floor. Passing the kitchen, Clary saw shards of porcelain and glass littered on the tile, presumably from a plate or a cup that had been thrown. Further still they crept into the house, and everything was eerily quiet. In the living room now, they witnessed an overturned couch that Clary assumed had been her mother's use as a barrier against her father. She couldn't take it anymore. 

"Mom?" Clary called out, her voice thin and panicked. "Mom?!" 

Jace turned and slapped a hand over her mouth, shooting her an angry look. Then - they heard something. No, not something. Someone. It came from the back of the house, and Clary and Jace exchanged a knowing look before sprinting down the hall, Jace with an arm flung out to keep Clary behind him. They reached the closed door at the end of the hall and it was unmistakable: Clary's mother was speaking in a soft, soothing voice. 

"....just a misunderstanding, Valentine....sure you could understand....for my sake...." Clary could hear only bits and pieces of what her mother was saying. She shot Jace a panicked look, feeling fear creeping up from her gut, filling her veins and killing her from the inside out. Jace tried the handle, and surprisingly, it was not locked. He raised the shovel above his head, easing the door open slowly at first, then suddenly flinging it open all the way as he jumped into the room, Clary hot on his tail. 

"Mom!" Clary gasped, nearly weeping with relief. But it was short lived. A tall, slender man with pale-white hair just like the one from her dream had Jocelyn cornered, a small silver revolver in his hand. The man, Valentine, spun around at the commotion, his face twisted with rage. In a flash, the gun was now no longer pointed at Jocelyn, but at Jace. 

"Mom?" Valentine sneered back. Realization dawned on his face. "You have a daughter, Jocelyn?" He asked sharply, and the question held weight. Valentine wanted to know if Clary was his daughter. And either way he would be furious. 

"Yes," Jocelyn choked out, keeping her voice low and soothing. "She's yours. Your daughter." To her credit, Clary's mother kept her head up, eyes defiant and locked on Valentine at all times. Clary noticed with dry and morbid amusement that an iron frying pan rested on the floor beside her bare feet. She must have been using it as a weapon in the beginning, judging by the sizeable knot on her father's eyebrow. Simon was right.

"My daughter?! MY DAUGHTER?!" He roared. "All this time, Jocelyn, all this time you kept her from me. 18 years you hid from me what was rightfully mine!" His voice rose to a pitch that seemed to shake the room.

"And 19 years ago you killed what was rightfully mine!" Clary's mother screamed with a passion that startled everyone in the room. "You took my son from me, and I couldn't let you take her away from me too!" Jocelyn was breathing hard, chest heaving, like a bull about to charge. Valentine stared her down with a careful, calculating look. 

"What in God's name are you talking about?" He spit, narrowing his eyes at her, straightening himself up. 

"The night you caught me talking to your old friend Luke Garroway. When we got home, you were furious, you just hit, and hit, and hit. That's all you ever do, is hurt people. You take and take and take and never give. And that night all of your hitting finally left its mark. I was pregnant, Valentine. And you took my son from me." Jocelyn was so full of righteous anger at the moment that she looked like an avenging angel, bruised and bloodied but standing tall, looking fearsome and admirable. 

Valentine was stunned into silence. He opened and shut his mouth several times as if to speak, but nothing ever came out. His silver-gray eyes looked as if they had flames dancing behind them. The entire room was still at Jocelyn's outburst. When he finally spoke, it was to Clary. 

A indiscernible look crossed his face. One of shock mixed with anger mixed with sadness. "What is your name, dear?" 

Clary was filled with repulsion. She was not his dear. And she never would be. Not ever in a million years. 

"Clarissa," She spit. She didn't want him to have the name she connected her identity with. He couldn't have Clary, that was too personal. Only Clarissa. 

"Clarissa," He repeated patronizingly, a disturbing smile cracking his face. He was an attractive man, with sharp features, dressed in a white button down and black suit pants, but to Clary he was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. "Very pretty. I like it."

The words were exactly what Jace had said back at The Black Orange. For some reason it filled her to the brim with even more anger, until she felt she would absolutely burst. Her chest heaved and she couldn't even form the words to say what she felt. 

"And who is he?" Valentine said hostilely, jerking his chin at Jace who stood his ground in front of Clary. No sooner had the words left his mouth than had Jace swung at him with the shovel, knocking the pistol out of Valentine's hand and sending it skittering to the ground.

Everything happened at once. Jace launched himself at Valentine, who hit the floor, but was able to nimbly roll out from under Jace's weight. He scrambled for the gun, by Jace stomped on his hand, and he cried out in pain. They both went down, and Clary flew to her mother's side, checking her for wounds. There was a gash just above her collarbone, not too deep, but it was bleeding concerningly. Purple bruises ringed her wrists and throat. Clary couldn't bear to look for anything more.

"Mom, I called the police, they should be here any second." Clary said quickly and she nearly dragged her mother toward the door. "Go, Mom. Go! Now!"

"I'm not leaving without you, Clary! I told you not to come here!" 

"I'm not leaving Jace!" Clary's voice was rising to a hysterical pitch. She could hear Valentine and Jace scuffling behind them, and her stomach wrenched. "Mom why didn't you call the police?! Why did you call me?"

"I wanted to face my fear. Alone." Jocelyn replied forcefully.

"Mom, are you insane?! What the hell is wrong with you?! You need to get out of here! Go!!" Clary once more attempted to push her mother toward the door, shielding Jocelyn with her body. Then out of nowhere, she hit the ground, hard, her teeth clacking together as they bit down on her tongue, filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood. Valentine had grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her legs out from underneath her. He dragged her toward him, and Clary kicked as hard as she could, clawing at the carpet. 

Jocelyn screamed and grabbed Clary's hand, but Valentine took hold of her long hair and jerked, yanking her head back and wrapping a wiry arm around her neck. 

"Jocelyn, sweetheart, just come with me, and I'll let her go. We can leave her here, and she'll be safe, I promise. Forever. Just come with me." He spoke softly, but his voice held an edge, as if Jocelyn would fall over it and to her doom if she gave the wrong answer. Clary was filled with panic and fear and she felt cold metal against her temple. Where was Jace?

Tears flowed freely down her face, now, but she didn't care. Just a few more minutes. A few more minutes and they would all be safe. 

"Please, Valentine, you don't want to do this. Let's work this out another way..." Jocelyn began cautiously, taking a slow step toward the corner where the frying pan lay, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

"Take another step and I'll do it. I'll do it." His grip on Clary's neck tightened. Between the tears and the obstruction of her airway, Clary was gasping and fighting for breath, clawing at Valentine's arm with all the strength she had. He shoved the barrel of the gun harder against her temple and she closed her eyes. One of them would die. Her nightmares had shown her weeks in advance. It would happen, and one of them would die, Clary holding the realization that she could have prevented it if she had acted on her gut instincts a week ago. If she had just convinced her mother to take a trip, to go somewhere, maybe this wouldn't be happening -

Out of nowhere came a voice - "Get your fucking hands off of her." Wham! An ear-splitting racket filled the air as the pan connected with Valentine's skull. He dropped the gun and his grip on Clary, falling to the ground with a cry of agony, his hands clutching his head just as the sirens came into earshot. Clary took a gasp of air, inhaling as much as her lungs could handle. There was so much noise reverberating around the room her head was swimming, but everyone in the room was completely still for a few moments.

Clary heard the pounding of a few sets of heavy boots making their way to the room. A loud voice boomed, "This is the police. Please come out with your hands up. I repeat, this is the police. Please come out with your hands up." But Valentine was lying on the floor, breathing evenly, unconscious. Even lying still he appeared a threat to Clary and she pushed away from him panickedly, crab-crawling back on her hands. 

"Clary-!" Jocelyn and Jace both exclaimed at the same time, seeming to shake themselves out of their reveries at the same moment. They both rushed toward her, Jace reaching her a moment sooner. He grabbed her face on either side and tilted it up and to each side, examining her. The look on his face was so far beyond confused it was almost funny. He needed answers, so, so many of them, Clary knew that. And he would get them soon enough. 

Jocelyn snatched Clary from his grasp and drew her to her chest, murmuring into her hair. "Clary, Clary, Clary, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Clary had stopped crying by now. She just stared. It was like this was all another insane nightmare. She had only met Jace a week ago. She had never met her father at all until 5 minutes ago. The whole encounter had taken hardly any time, though it felt like she had been living in this horrible moment for eternity, and it would never end. Deep down, Clary had held out hope that maybe her father would find them, and he would have changed his ways. Would apologize for how he was before and just love on them. Of course she realized now how naïve that had been. 

The police burst into the room now, three officers, guns drawn. At first glance, they must have assumed Jace was the problem, for they all rushed him at once screaming "drop the weapon! Drop your weapon!" Jace quickly dropped the pan and raised his hands in the air, attempting to reason with them, but Jocelyn stepped in. "No! No, no it's not him! It's not him. It's my husband, there! It's not the boy." She pointed to Valentine's still form and seconds later medical personnel flooded the scene, separating Jocelyn and Clary from each other, prying them apart. A small, bird-like woman was examining Clary's neck, shining a light in each of her eyes, asking her to breathe in and out. 

"Do you hurt anywhere? Can you tell me where you hurt?" The woman asked in a gentle voice. 

Clary shook her head. "I don't hurt anywhere. It's my mom. My mom is hurt, you have to get my mom -" 

"We're taking care of her, honey, don't worry. It's going to be okay. Everything is okay now."

"What about Jace? Is he okay? Where is he? I want to see them, could you please let go of me, I'm fine, I said I'm fine, if you could just please -" Clary's voice was becoming more and more panicked as she tried to fight off the nurse. She just wanted to see them. 

"Your boyfriend is okay, too, they're both being loaded onto the ambulance, and you need to come with us as well. I promise you I will let you see them sweetheart, you just have to cooperate with me." 

Defeated, Clary let her shoulders sag, nodding in understanding. Jace wasn't her boyfriend, and never would be after this, but the nurse didn't care. It didn't matter. She didn't have the energy to correct her. As she let the nurse lead her out of the room, she saw that paramedics were hoisting her limp father onto a gurney. Clary wished he was dead. 

The ambulance lights were too bright. The police sirens were too loud. Clary just wanted to go to sleep. She wanted Simon. 

Jace waited anxiously in the back of the ambulance beside Clary's mother. This was definitely not his idea of a date. Clary's mother was crying and saying how horrible of a mother she was. Jace had his arm wrapped awkwardly around her, offering little comfort. What had just happened? He was so confused. He was so angry. He couldn't believe anyone could ever lay their hands on their wife and child that way. 

Moments later, he saw Clary being led toward the ambulance by a small nurse. She climbed into the ambulance with assistance from the EMT, and sat down in between Jocelyn and he. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and buried her face in her hair. For a long time, Jace didn't think she was ever going to move. They both just held each other, their hair like twin fires, looking like candles who had just almost been blown out, but not quite. Candles in the wind. Finally, Clary raised her head and turned to him. They exchanged a long look, and he knew that there was no getting out of this now. He had to be involved with Clary Fairchild no matter what. He could not leave her now. Not this beautiful girl, this fierce, brave girl who had rushed to her mother's aid despite the fear that must have threatened to overpower her. He had never met anyone like her, except for maybe his sister Isabelle. 

Jocelyn reached out and took Jace's hand in her thin paint-stained fingers, her hands trembling. "Thank you." She said firmly, squeezing his hand. Her eyes were just like Clary's, determined and powerful. He nodded back at her, and wondered if life ever got better for anyone.


	8. Chapter 8

For the next few days, Clary did her best to avoid Jace Herondale. It's not that she wasn't grateful for what he'd done for her and her mother; she was plenty thankful. It's just, what do you say after something like that? Hey, thanks for hitting my abusive father upside the head with a frying pan and possibly saving my life after only knowing me for a few days? The idea was ridiculous to her. She was so completely embarrassed; the thought of facing Jace after what had happened made her want to cry and throw up at the same time.

As far as Clary knew, her father had been arrested for domestic abuse, stalking, and aggravated assault. He was first taken to the hospital, where he was treated for blunt force trauma to the head, but was relatively fine after a few days, when he was then transferred to a holding cell at the police station so they could get all the details sorted out. 

Clary's mother, Jocelyn, had been treated for mild blood loss, a bruised rib, and bruising around her neck and wrists, all of which had to have happened before Clary arrived. She didn't ask to know the details. 

Jace and Clary were the ones who got off easy compared to Jocelyn and Valentine. Clary only had a slight bruise on her neck and a bitten tongue. Jace had a concussion and was kept overnight in the hospital to be monitored. It all still felt like a dream to her.

Simon was beyond hysterical when she had finally gotten home Sunday morning. She found out Jocelyn had tried to call him while Clary was still at The Black Orange, and when he tried to call back while they were all at the hospital Clary asked her mother not to answer it. She didn't want him to panic and come rushing to the hospital. It could wait till the morning. 

All morning long Simon had fired off question after question, continually checking Clary for any signs of injury as if he didn't believe the hospital had done a thorough job. Clary bluntly fended off his interrogations, too tired to go into details. She told him the bulk of what had happened, from her mother's call, to Jace jumping into the truck, to the altercation with Valentine. With each word Simon turned paler and paler, his face a mask of anger and shock and sorrow. 

"Wait, wait, wait," he had said, "so you're telling me that your FATHER, the one you haven't seen in 18 years, showed up at your Mom's house. And tried to kill you?!" 

Clary dully nodded yes, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Simon."

"A-a-and, this guy, this-this Jace character, just jumps into the back of your car, and beats your dad over the head with a skillet?!"

"More or less, yeah. Look Simon, I'm really not in the mood okay? I know you're curious and everything but could you please just drop it?" She had snapped irritably. He was acting as if the whole thing were part of some cheesy action movie that he wanted to know all the details of, and not something that had rocked her whole world on its foundation. 

She had called into work that day, definitely not capable of dealing with customers - or anyone at all really. She laid in bed all day, looking out the window, looking up at the ceiling, looking at the floor. She never slept. She knew she would have nightmares. Clary didn't want to see anyone, not even her mother. She knew it was selfish but seeing her father only confirmed what she already knew - that he didn't care about her or her mother. She would never truly have a father. She knew her mother's pain must be worse, having lost both a husband and a child, but Clary didn't care at that moment. She just wanted to be alone for a while. 

The next day she attempted work. Two hours into her shift the day had been generally pretty slow, but then a familiar blonde head made its way over to her section. Quickly, she shuffled into the employee restroom at the back of the room. When she emerged again, he was gone. 

Wednesday, he showed up again. This time she almost didn't want to hide from him. She wanted to admire the way his golden hair curled at the ends, the way it sometimes hung into his eyes. She wanted to stare at the way his chest narrowed perfectly into his slim hips, the way his hands were always shoved into his pockets. Instead, she ducked behind the counter and sat on the floor until she was sure he had left.

Wednesday night, Simon made dinner again. He had made dinner all the previous nights, knowing instinctively that Clary wouldn't be up to it. This time it was spaghetti. Relatively easy to make and nearly impossible to mess up, considering all you had to do was boil noodles and heat up the sauce in a pan. Clary picked at her food, twirling and untwirling her noodles around her fork. After about 15 minutes of this, Simon was fed up. 

"Clary. Eat." He admonished. 

"I am eating." She argued, shooting him a sideways glance.

"You can't mope around forever. I don't know what your deal is, and I'm not trying to be mean, I know what happened was traumatic for you. But this isn't anything you didn't already know, Clary." 

Clary kept her eyes focused on her plate, still twirling and untwirling her noodles.

"I guess I just liked to believe that he was out there somewhere trying to be better. So he could be with us someday in a good way. I dunno, it's dumb." She mumbled.

"I understand," Simon replied, reaching over to brush her hair off her shoulder. For some reason, Clary's temper went through the roof.

"No, Simon, you don't understand! All your life you've had both of your parents! You've never ever had to feel the way that I feel right now! So do not give me that bullshit about how you 'understand'!" Clary shouted suddenly. Simon jumped visibly in his seat, startled by her outburst. His face fell, and he looked hurt. 

"I'll just leave you alone then." He mumbled sadly, taking his plate and shuffling up the stairs to his room. Clary instantly regretted her words. She knew she shouldn't be mad at Simon, he really was only trying to help. But she couldn't help but envy him for his life, how he had always had such a perfect setup. She placed her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to cry herself to sleep. But she wouldn't. Couldn't. 

Then, her phone began ringing. Stretching across the couch to grab it, she looked at the screen and was surprised by what she saw - "Jace calling..." it said. She sighed and hit decline. Within seconds it began ringing again. "Jace calling..." She hit decline again. It rang. She hit decline. It rang. She hit decline. Eventually she couldn't handle it anymore. The next time it rang she slid her finger across the screen to answer it and barked "What do you want?" into the receiver. 

The voice that replied was unnervingly calm and gentle. "I want to see you. How are you doing?"

"Why do you care?" She accused.

"Because I do. Are you okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned. She could just picture him, eyebrows pulled together, lips turned down slightly at the corners. It did not fit with the arrogant, pushy boy she had first encountered.

"Does it sound like I'm okay?" She tried to sound hostile but to her dismay her voice broke on the last word. 

"Can I come see you?" He asked in response. "I thought about driving around all the apartments near The Black Orange to find yours but that seemed a little too Christian Grey for my tastes." 

"I'm not really up for it right now." She mumbled.

"Yeah, just like you weren't really up for it the last two days when you hid from me at the Duck In. Yes, I saw you. Clary, I need answers. You can't pretend I'm not involved in this now."

"Jace I -"

"Clary, I know you probably think all kinds of nasty things about my character. Things that are in all probability true. But you can't say that I don't care."

Clary was silent. He was right, why would he go through all this trouble if he didn't care? But the question was not if he cared, but why he cared. 

"Just give me your address Clary. Please. Or you can meet me somewhere. I just need to talk to you."

"You know the place everyone calls the beach? Past the park, by the river?" She replied after a few moments of hesitation.

"I do."

"Meet me there? Past the big fallen tree, just hop over it and there's a little alcove. You'll know the place because there's an old fire-pit there."

"When?"

"Fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be there." Jace said, and hung up. Clary grabbed her keys and headed out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

When Clary arrived, Jace was already there. He didn't seem to hear her approaching yet, so she slowed her pace. She wanted to just observe him and admire him candidly, like she had never had a chance to before. He was perched on a rock and had taken off his shoes; his toes splashed water up over and over absently as he dangled them in the river. He was wearing a pair of light denim jeans and a green flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms rested on his knees and his hands were loosely clasped together as he leaned forward, thinking intently. He looked beautiful, like a statue carved from marble or a Renaissance painting. He was art. 

Just then, he glanced up and saw her approaching him. "Hey, there you are! Started to think you wouldn't show." He smiled half-heartedly and stood quickly from his seat on the rock. He half jogged over to her, helping her over the fallen tree. She didn't protest his help this time. He patted the rock he had been sitting on, indicating for Clary to make her seat there, and he lowered himself onto the damp "sand." There was a bruise covering his jaw on the right side of his face, but other than that he seemed just fine. 

"Yeah, well, here I am." She replied in a deadpan, drawing her knees up to her chest and keeping her gaze focused out on the river where the sun was beginning to set. Her hair was dirty and frizzy because she hadn't bothered to wash it or fix it, and she had dark circles under her eyes from so many sleepless nights. 

"You look nice," He said jokingly, nudging her playfully on the arm, trying to get her to smile.

"Mm, yeah. America's Next Top Model, right here." She replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. He grinned, absently raking up sand with his fingers. 

After a few moments, he said gently, "I know you probably don't want to talk about it -"

Clary cut him off. "I don't."

" - but, I feel like I at least deserve an explanation of...what the hell happened. You know? Don't I at least get that?" He glanced up at her through his long lashes. 

Clary sighed heavily, her shoulders visibly rising and falling. She rubbed her tired eyes and face, then rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Just pick somewhere."

She turned her face to the side so her cheek was resting on her knees, the back of her head turned towards Jace, speaking away from him. He had to strain to hear her. 

"So, my mom married my dad when she was really young, like right out of high school. Not the smartest move, I realize, but they thought it was true love or whatever. So they got married. And...for awhile everything was great. They bought a little house and they were getting along just fine. But then, my mom started noticing a change in my dad.

Jace's heart hurt for Clary.

"He would get, like, insanely jealous over things, and he started having these...these fits of rage. That's what she called them. And he would just lose it and start hitting her and throwing stuff, and she didn't leave because she didn't want to admit that anything was wrong, you know? But she was pregnant with my...would-be older brother, and she lost the baby because of my dad. She even lost herself for a while. She laid in bed and didn't hardly ever ate, really. Then when she found out she was pregnant with me, she knew she had to get out, so she just...up and left. In the middle of the night. She stole one of my father's guns from the safe and fled. She never looked back." Clary paused and took a huge steadying breath. Her voice was small and frail, trembling. "We hadn't heard anything from him in 18 years. Until about a week ago. My mom called me really panickedly and told me she thought she had seen my dad in town. We didn't really think it could be him. I should've persuaded her, I should've forced her to leave..." 

Clary turned to him now and Jace could see her eyes filling with tears and he yearned to reach out and pull her to him. He knew her pain. He wanted so much to kiss her tears away and make everything okay for her. It shocked him to feel this way, especially after only such a short time. But the circumstances had been strange and love was strange as well.

"Clary, you have to know that this isn't your fault. None of this is your fault in any way." He said firmly, reaching up to place a hand over hers. She eyed his hand suspiciously but didn't pull hers away. She just shrugged sadly. 

"It isn't." He repeated, more fiercely this time. She looked him in the eyes and they exchanged feelings for a brief moment without saying a word. Then just as abruptly, she tore her eyes away. 

"I just feel so scared all the time." She mumbled, turning her head away again. Jace could barely hear her. 

"What?" He asked, moving closer to her to hear her better. He hopped up on the rock and she scooted over to make room for him, but they were still shoulder to shoulder.

"I said, I just feel so scared all the time. I mean I know he can't get us anymore, but I feel so shaken up. I can't rid myself of this fear, that every time I turn a corner he'll be there." She shuddered. 

"Would it make you feel safer if you knew how to defend yourself?" Jace asked, an idea forming in his head. 

"What do you mean? Like self defense?" 

"Yeah. I could teach you, if you want." He shrugged, but he really hoped she took his offer. 

"Really? Like right now?" Her face seemed to be more open. 

"Well I mean I guess we could start now, but it takes a while to learn everything you need. I'd be happy to do it if it would make you feel more comfortable." 

She looked up at him with those large green eyes and his heart seemed to melt. He would do more than just teach her to protect herself, he would protect her himself with everything he had. He would never let anything or anyone hurt her again. Abruptly she stood up, brushing off her pants. She kicked off her worn sneakers and placed them on top of the rocks, pulling her hair up quickly into an off-center ponytail. 

Jace raised his eyebrows. "You're enthusiastic." He said.

"I'm scared, I'm angry, and I'm determined. There's a big difference." She said, the moonlight glinting off her bright, defiant green eyes. Jace stood up as well, unlacing his boots and taking off his socks. He moved to stand in front of her, and they were both just above the lip of the river, the sand wet and mushy. 

"Alright then. Let's start with something easy. I want you to get yourself situated like you would if you were about to fight me, and then I want you to punch me as hard as you can."

"Punch you? What if I hurt you?"

"You won't. Just go." Jace stood with his shoulders back, fists up in a fighting stance. Something about his words sounded like a challenge to Clary, and she was filled with determination. She spread her feet apart, raised her fists, and in one swift motion, swung her right arm and punched him in the chest, grunting with the effort of the swing. It hurt more than he'd expected, but she'd made the mistake he'd been hoping for. She dropped her left fist when she swung, exposing her face to her attacker, leaving herself unprotected. As she hit him, he swung his palm forward as well and pushed her face, like a slow motion slap. 

"What was that?" She asked, her brows drawing together.

"I was showing you what you did wrong. If I really wanted to hurt you, I could have punched you right then, square in the jaw." He explained. "Keep your fist up when you swing, like this -"

Jace moved behind Clary and placed his hands on her hips, positioning them the way they needed to be. Clary felt herself blushing bright red at his touch. She was embarrassed at her thoughts, that she wanted him to touch her more, she didn't want him to take his hands away. Then, Jace grabbed her arms and brought them up to the correct stance. Holding both of her wrists, he swung her right arm in a punching motion, while keeping her left wrist firmly in place in front of her face. "Never expose your vitals." He instructed.

She nodded, grateful for the darkness to hide her red cheeks. Jace moved back around in front of her. "Now, do what you just did. But do it correctly this time. You can do it."

Clary moved her hips into position, brought up her fists, and swung. 

"Better, but you're still wanting to drop that left arm a bit. Make sure you keep it where I showed you. Do it again."

And Clary did. Again. And again. And again, until she felt like her arm was a noodle. Finally, Jace exclaimed, "YES! Just like that! That was perfect!" He was beaming at her, and she was beaming back. She let out a little whoop of excitement and jumped into the air which made him grin even bigger. 

"Alright, now I'm going to swing at you. I want you to dodge it. Okay?" Clary nodded. She put her fists up, guarding her face. Suddenly, Jace's large fist swung towards her, and she dropped low into a crouch, leaning to the side, never dropping her hands. 

Jace nodded his approval. "Good, good. That was perfect. Let's try it again, but this time, block my hit with your forearm. Okay?" She nodded. She got into position, and when Jace swung, she tensed the muscles in her arm and his fist connected against her forearm that shielded her face. It worked, but she lost her footing in the wet sand beneath her feet, and stumbled backward. Jace reached out to grab ahold of her, and suddenly they were both soaked in river water as they fell into the shallow current. Clary would have been immensely embarrassed if it weren't for Jace's hearty laugh. He laid back in the water, his golden hair darkening with the dampness, swirling around his face, and laughed deeply, a genuine belly-laugh. His eyes crinkled up, and his smile lit up his face. Clary's heart swelled at the sight. Giggling, she stood up, her clothes clinging to her and dripping water. She extended a hand, and Jace took it, hoisting himself out of the water, but nearly bringing tiny Clary back down again. 

"Easy there, easy," he murmured, as he caught her round the waist. "Don't want to get swept away by the current, little as you are." He winked and smirked down at her as she gave him a playful slap on the chest. She looked up at him and they both laughed, Jace still holding Clary to him. It had gotten dark by now and the moonlight glittered on the water.

Abruptly, she cleared her throat, and stopped laughing. "Thank you, Jace. For everything." She said seriously, and he knew what she meant. Looking down at her, she was so powerful and magnificent he could hardly stand it. Her heart began beating faster, and she heard Jace's deep voice murmur, "Anytime, Clary," and then his lips were on hers. She didn't know who moved first, whether it was Jace or her or whether they both moved together. All she knew in that moment was that his soft lips were against hers, forming to their shape perfectly. His hands rested at the small of her back, pulling her gently against his body. She reached up and rested her small hand against the side of his face, brushing his hair softly away as she arched upward on her toes, pressing their mouths closer.

Jace's lips parted hers and she felt his tongue delicately exploring her lips, her tongue, her teeth. She made a small noise in the back of throat and felt him tense, drawing her closer. It was pure bliss. She could kiss him forever and never stop. It was as if he sustained her; she never wanted to let go of him. Just as suddenly as it began, Jace pulled away, his amber eyes flickering and alive with passion. Clary's breath hitched in her throat as she took in his form, soaked in water, the t-shirt beneath his open flannel shirt sticking to his rigid body, outlining every strong muscle. The moonlight shone down on him like a spotlight, illuminating the water droplets that clung to the ends of his hair and the strong cut of his jaw. He looked uncannily like an angel to Clary, like an avenging Michael standing tall and strong in the river.

Jace longed to draw her back to him and kiss her once more. Kiss her the whole night long. She was so soft and small in his arms, and yet he could feel an unmatched strength and fire coursing through her as she was pressed against his body. She was backlit by the moon, silhouetted against the sparkling water. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail and cascaded over her shoulders and back, dripping with water, and her clothes clung to her thin frame, highlighting every delicate stroke, as if she was drawn by an immeasurably talented artist. She was breathtaking to him, an angel in the river, water pooling around her pale, bony ankles. 

Finally, he broke the silence. "It's getting late. You should probably be getting home." Clary's heart fell. She had hoped he would say something...better. Would ask to see her again, would tell her the kiss was wonderful, something to let her know how he felt. She nodded sadly and turned away from him, trudging her way back to the shore, feeling mortified and ridiculous. Then she felt a hand on her wrist. It was Jace, pulling her back to look at him. 

"When can I see you again, Clarissa?" He asked urgently, his eyes boring into hers in a way that made her stomach flutter violently. 

"Tomorrow. As soon as possible." She replied, throwing all those 'play-hard-to-get' tips and tricks out the proverbial window. He grinned and his face was alight as he pulled her to his body and kissed her full on the mouth, fingers tangling in her damp hair. Clary never wanted the night to end.


	10. Chapter 10

That night, Jace had insisted on walking Clary home despite her protestations. He quickly reminded her that she had just confessed to being scared all the time, and that even though she now knew some self defense, it was extremely basic. Clary knew he had a point, so she let him. Besides, she was definitely not opposed to spending more time with him. She had hoped Jace would kiss her again that night, but except for a tiny peck on her doorstep, he didn't. She guessed he was trying to respect her pace. 

Simon was waiting when she walked in the door somewhere between 11:00 and midnight. He jumped to his feet immediately, as if he had been poised on the edge of his seat, waiting, for the whole time she had been gone.

"Where the hell have you been?" He started in. "You can't just leave here in the middle of the night without letting me know, especially after what just happened with your dad! Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?" 

"You could have tried to call," Clary dead panned with a shrug, not in the mood to deal with this after the unusually wonderful night she had just had. 

"I did." He said harshly and convictingly. "You left your phone here."

"My bad. It won't happen again, I'm fine." She brushed off the issue and made her way towards the stairs to her bedroom. 

"That's all I get? Just 'my bad'?" Simon accused, grabbing hold of her shoulder. 

"Could you just cut it out, Simon?" Clary snapped, yanking her shoulder out of his grip. "You're not my parent, you're just my roommate okay? I'm an adult, I can do things on my own." 

Simon flinched. Just a roommate? After everything they had been through together, after 18 years all he was was just a roommate? Clary sensed what he was thinking and quickly backtracked. 

"Oh, Simon, no I didn't mean it like that..." She began, reaching out a hand to console him. He stepped away from her touch and nodded solemnly, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

"No, it's cool. I get it. Just a roommate." He pushed past her and quickly rushed up the stairs to his room. Clary heard the door slam moments later and winced. She didn't know whether she should go after him or not, so she decided to let him cool off for a few minutes before she tried to reconcile. She trudged her way up the stairs and into her room. She kicked off her sneakers and started to change into her pajamas, peeling off her damp and sandy garments and tossing them onto the floor in the corner. She noticed that her knuckles were slightly sore and her back ached, but she could not stop smiling and absently touching her lips, as if she could still feel his warmth there. 

Clary pulled on a pair of baby blue cotton shorts and a white tank top for bed, then padded over to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening for Simon. She didn't hear much, just the muffled sound of computer generated gunfire as he played Call of Duty. She sighed and gently eased the door open. He was wearing headphones to communicate with other players on Xbox Live, and didn't appear to hear her come in, so she walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. 

After a few minutes Simon shot her a glance, indicating that he knew she was there. Clary raised her eyebrows at him, as if to ask him why he wasn't speaking to her. He paused the game and turned to her, sliding the headphones down around his neck. 

"What, are you here to tell me I'm late on my share of the rent? After all, I'm just a roommate." He said bitterly, cutting her a look with his narrowed blue eyes. 

"C'mon, Simon, you know I didn't mean -"

He cut her off. "Were you with him?"

"What? Who? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit Clary. Him. Jace. Were you with him tonight?"

"Why does it matter, Simon? Why do you care what - ?"

"Because I love you!" He roared. "I do! Me, the one who has been here for you for eighteen goddamn years, Clary! I love you and I've always loved you and you just pretend like you don't see it, as if you could ignore it so much it would just go away. I wish it would go away, Clary! Because it hurts to see you love everyone but me." For all his anger, his voice broke on the last word, exposing his true emotions.

Clary was speechless. She opened and closed her mouth as if to say something but couldn't find any words. "Simon, I..."

"Just, don't. Do me a favor, and just don't, Clary. Don't baby me, like you always do. You always treat me like a puppy, like you can love on me but never love me. Not the way I love you." 

Clary slid off the bed and scooted over to where Simon sat on the floor, resting her head on his bare, skinny shoulder. "I do love you, Simon. You're mine, okay? You and I, it's just us. It's us against the world. Forever. No one can ever love you like I love you. It may not be the way you want it, but Simon you'll never know how many ways I love you, and how much." She murmured into his collarbone, wrapping her arms around him. She felt a hot tear land on top of her head. Simon's arms wrapped around her and he pulled her into his lap, hugging her tightly to his chest, as if he would never ever let her go. 

"Love you, C." He whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Love you, S. I'm sorry, too." She replied, nestling her head into his chest. 

Then, from the headphones around his neck came several voices at once - "bro, should we go? Like...I mean..." "Duuuude that's rough, man..." "Aw hell, we heard the whole thing man, and I gotta tell you, that's some tough shit...sorry man.." and a chorus of male "ooooh"s in the background, as if the person on the other end of the connection was playing the game with several friends in the room. 

Simon rolled his eyes, "Shut the fuck up, guys. Seriously." He reached over and turned off the console angrily but when Clary giggled, a smirk formed on his lips. His expression softened as he looked at her, pale legs tucked underneath her, bright, slightly damp hair framing her face. He admired her for several moments and it was silent, neither of them wanting to be the first to speak. 

Eventually Simon cleared his throat. "So, uh...can I just ask why you were, you know, soaking wet when you came home in the middle of the night?" 

Clary sighed. "I asked Jace to teach me self defense. So I would feel safer, because of my dad and everything." She mumbled. 

His expression softened and Clary could tell he felt even worse about his previous outburst and accusations. "But wait, I still don't understand why you were all wet."

"Because I met him down by the river, and I fell in the water when I was practicing."

"Our place? You took him to our place by the river?" A muscle twitched in his jaw as he struggled not to feel hurt or angry. He could feel it rising up inside of him as he continually tried to squash it. He felt as if Clary was being taken from him. 

"I can't even talk to you, Simon. Just forget it." Clary threw her hands up and shoved up from the floor, starting for the door. She whirled around at the last minute. "Can you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute, Simon?" Simon flinched, and Clary just stood there glaring, her chest heaving slightly. "Why can't you just be happy for me?" Her voice trembled. 

"What do you mean, Clary? Happy for what?" Simon got to his feet and faced her square on. 

"Oh I dunno, happy that I finally have someone else in my life who might care about me? Happy that now I have something that can make me feel secure and safe against my father? Happy that I'm happy? You always say that my pain is your pain, Simon." She paused and spoke the next words in a strained voice, tears threatening to gather in her eyes. "He kissed me tonight, and it was wonderful. Wonderful to feel loved for even just a fleeting moment. And I was truly happy, just for right then. So why isn't my happiness your happiness? Why do you have to take this from me?" A tear fell from her eyes and she swiped angrily at it with the back of her hand. 

"I didn't know you felt that way." Simon said in a tight voice, hands hanging loosely at his sides, back rigid. "I'm sorry." He whispered. Clary nodded, spun on her heel, and disappeared through the door, leaving Simon standing alone in the middle of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Clary dove onto her bed and snatched the covers over her, curling herself up into a ball and burying herself under the thick security of her quilts. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and colors bloomed against the dark palette of her eyelids. Why did everything have to be so damned complicated? 

She had always had Simon, for as long as she could remember. It was like Clary couldn't imagine herself without him at any time in her life. But she never remembered him like this. This bitter, jealous boy that rested in the room beside hers. She wanted the old Simon back. The one that tried to braid her hair but always got it tied in knots instead, the one that played nerf gun wars with her up and down the stairs of their apartment, the one who had started "Sunday Surprise" dinner where he tried to make an edible meal entirely out of the junk cabinet in the kitchen. The Simon who was her best friend. She didn't know how to feel about this newfound revelation. Simon loved her...romantically? She felt a strange sense of sadness. Clary would be reluctant to act the same way around Simon that she usually did with this elephant looming in the middle of the room. She couldn't have tickle fights with him on the couch or come into his room when she had nightmares. All of that was changed by Simon's feelings for her. 

Clary wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She hadn't cried, hadn't really cried, at all since the incident with her dad. Everything just built up inside her; her mother, her father, her brother, Jace, Simon, her job, her classes, her own inadequacy, it all just hardened inside her, crystallized into a shard that threatened to impale her from the inside out. Every step she made was well choreographed - one wrong move could send all of her sadness and all of her anger piercing through. It was a dangerous game. She laid that way - curled up, eyes closed, hands over her face - for minutes, then hours, until she finally fell into fitful sleep. 

On the other side of the wall, Simon Lewis did somewhat of the same. Why the hell had he confessed to her like that? He knew she was fragile, he knew she had enough to worry about right now. Clary had had a hell of a life, and she still managed to be so full of grace and life. She deserved this happiness. She deserved anything she wanted. Simon hated himself for denying her that, for blaming her and causing her even more pain simply because what she wanted wasn't him. He was ashamed of himself, but all he had really wanted was the best for her. He wanted to protect her from everything, but his protection suffocated her. She felt smothered, she wanted out, she wanted to breathe on her own. He wasn't ready for that yet. Simon buried his face in the pillow angrily, and eventually drifted off to sleep and dreams of the girl he loved. 

The next morning, Clary dragged herself out of bed at 6:00 am. The memory of all that had occurred last night hit her like a slap and she groaned. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep until this all blew over. She was tired of dancing on eggshells and trying to fix her mistakes. She just wanted someone to be on her side for once. 

She tugged on her dirty uniform and shoes, brushed her teeth, and scraped her wild hair into a bun. Red ringlet curls popped out around her ears, over her forehead, on the back of her neck, making her seem childlike. She should probably fix it, but instead she just sighed and waved her hand dismissively at her reflection. Clary headed downstairs, snatched her keys and a granola bar off the counter and stepped outside into the cool, dark morning. She slammed the door loudly behind her and hoped it woke Simon up. She didn't care that it was childish. 

Work passed uneventfully, as usual. Nothing interesting ever happened there, the only exception obviously being when she met Jace. She smiled at the memory. She had hoped he would show up there, but he never came. He must be tired, and sleeping. Clary didn't blame him. Around 4:00, just as she was getting ready to clock out, her phone buzzed. 

Are you working today? 

Her heart lept. Jace, finally! She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, but there had been a part of her that feared he would never follow up on last night. That the kiss meant nothing to him. 

-Just getting off now. Why? 

Clary hoped he would ask to see her. She still wasn't ready to go back home to Simon, and Jace was a much-wanted distraction.

Because I have a surprise for you. It's not weird, so don't freak out. I left it in the bed of your truck underneath the red blanket. 

A moment later he texted back again -

Btw, I knew you were working today. I just needed a lead-in so I didn't sound creepy...

Clary laughed softly, a smile lighting her face, and dashed outside, barely remembering to grab her purse. She jogged down the row of vehicles to her baby blue pickup, and slung her purse onto the hood. She walked around to the back and hoisted herself up onto the tire, swinging herself into the bed of the truck. She knelt and folded back the red blanket, knowing she must be smiling like an idiot, and was moved by what she saw. 

An 8x10 canvas, a set of brushes, 10 bottles of acrylic paint, a brand new sketchbook, and a set of sketching and shading pencils lay beneath the blanket. Her hands flew to her face, covering her mouth. She was so surprised! Why had Jace gotten her all of these things? She and him weren't serious or anything, they were hardly anything at all yet.

A voice came from behind her suddenly, which made her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Do you like them? I'm sorry, I know it may seem a bit forward, but I remembered you said you were an artist. I wanted to give something to you, and..." Jace trailed off, looking uncharacteristically sheepish, standing behind her truck with his hands clasped behind his back. 

Clary whirled around, her hand pressed against her chest. "I love them! Jace, you really didn't need to - "

"I know, I know." He held a hand up to stop her. "I didn't need to. I wanted to. You've been having a...a hard time lately, I've gathered, and I'm probably not making your life any easier." Clary looked down guiltily at this. "So I wanted to give you something that would take your mind off things." He grinned with the right side of his mouth. 

Clary grinned back. "Thank you so much. Wow. I just..." She mumbled as she carefully bundled the supplies back up in the blanket. She clutched it to her chest and made her way to the side of the truck to jump out. Jace held up a hand, motioning for her to wait, and made his way over to her. He wrapped his hands around her waist and nodded. Clary jumped and he gently lifted her down to the ground. She felt herself blushing and looked down at her shoes, avoiding his eyes. 

"I can't accept this, Jace..." She began.

"Oh c'mon, don't give me that. It's yours. No big deal." He nudged her with his arm, then yanked open the passenger side door. She placed the supplies gently in the seat, then grabbed her purse and slung it over her arm. When she turned around, Jace was inches away from her face, his smoldering amber eyes looking down into her large green ones. She noticed that he was almost obnoxiously perfect. His nose was long and straight, his cheekbones were high and sharp, his skin a sun-kissed tan color. Tattoos twined his arms and, she knew from the first day she met him and saw his photos, his back and chest. He smirked, and Clary observed a chipped tooth to the right side of his mouth. It was charming and added to that childlike vulnerability she so loved when he smiled. 

She opened her mouth to say thank you, and before she knew it, her mouth was on his. His lips were soft and warm, and his hands were rough and gentle as they rested on her bare arms, his thumbs rubbing little circle patterns on her skin. She felt as if all million billion trillion atoms in her body were exploding, filling her with a white hot energy that filled her up and made her actively search for more as she pressed up into him, kissing him more deeply. He grunted and moved his hands to the small of her back, pulling her roughly to him, against his body. His mouth conquered hers and she moved her head to his rhythm, feeling his tongue run across her lips. She sighed, and he pulled away for breath. 

"You," he whispered, panting, an awestruck expression on his face. 

"What about me?" Clary asked timidly, smoothing her flyaway hairs down self consciously. 

He shook his head with a grin, as if he knew the best secret in the world. "Just you." He bit his lip and chuckled before continuing tentatively, "Would you like to...maybe, come with me to my house?" Clary blanched, and when he noticed her expression he quickly clarified. "No! No no no, not like that. Not like that. Just to hang out, you know? You can meet my brother and sister, and even my cat, Church, if he takes well to you." 

"You have a brother and sister?" She asked with a puzzled expression. 

"See, wouldn't it be nice to find out a little more about this strikingly handsome delinquent with whom you've been locking lips?" He teased. Clary rolled her eyes and laughed. 

"Alright then, let's go." She motioned him to the passenger seat of her car, but he held up a finger and shook his head. 

"My car this time." He smiled and took her hand and Clary was filled with a reckless joy as he pulled her across the parking lot.


	12. Chapter 12

The building loomed in front of Clary like an 18th century manor. Jace had driven them through the historical district in downtown in order to get to his house, and they now sat idling in the driveway of a home whose sign on the front lawn boasted "The Lightwood House". Clary had seen this house before, along with the four other historical homes that her town laid claim to. They sat in the middle of downtown and stuck out like large, sore thumbs compared to the saggy, weathered suburbs that made up her hometown. She never would have imagined that Jace could live in one of these veritable mansions. 

Jace tactfully pretended not to notice her dumbstruck demeanor as he stepped out of the car and walked around to her side to open her door. Before he could reach it, Clary opened it herself, thanking him with a small nod for the gesture. She craned her neck to look up at the house as she followed Jace up the flower-lined walkway to the stone steps, and then up to the large mahogany door. She had never had a chance to see any of the houses at such close proximity before, and she was amazed by the quiet nobility they exuded. Jace glanced back at her as she was admiring the large white pillars that upheld the front stoop and unlocked the heavy door, pushing it open and in with his shoulder. 

"You live here?" Clary asked as she stepped into the beautiful and tastefully decorated foyer, unable to hide the awe in her voice. Her whole life she had lived in linoleum and laminate, dollar-store sheets and hand-me-down pillows. She couldn't imagine how it was to wake up to hardwood and sheets fancy enough to have a thread count emblazoned on the package, to have reliable air conditioning and heat. "I thought your last name was Herondale?" 

"It is, and I do." He replied unhelpfully.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Elaborate please." She snapped irritatedly.

"I'm adopted." He replied nonchalantly with a shrug, but Clary could see his eyes darken. She flinched and began to apologize when he seemed to read her mind and cut her off with a wave of his hand. "My brother and sister are the Lightwoods, I've lived with them and their parents since I was a little boy. They're as much my flesh and blood as if I were born into this family, and no one can tell me otherwise." 

Clary nodded cautiously, trying to feel out the situation. Some people were very open about their situation, and others did not welcome any questions about their past parents. Clary sensed Jace was the latter, so she kept her mouth shut and attempted a change of subject. 

"Well, are they home right now? I'd love to meet them." She asked politely, standing awkwardly with her hands folded in front of her, leaning against a marble pillar. 

"My parents, Mayrse and Robert, are out on a business trip. They're not home and they rarely are. I think my brother Alec, is upstairs, I'll go see." Jace then motioned to a large leather sofa that sat against the wall, framed by plush chairs and throw pillows and ottomans and items of furniture Clary didn't even know what to do with. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a second. Feel free to look around if you would like." He brushed by her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he went, and flashed her a smile, then ascended the large spiraling wood staircase that stood in the far corner of the space. Clary had never felt so out of place in her entire life. She didn't belong with these people. 

She cautiously sat down on the very edge of one of the chairs, afraid that even her mere presence would contaminate something. She sat with her spine rigidly straight, her ankles crossed and her hand folded gently in her lap. It was miserable, sitting that way, but she was too afraid of disturbing the pristine decorations to shift. She sat that way in awkward solitude for several minutes before she noticed music drifting into the room from the doorway to her right. To the left of the house was the staircase that led upwards, but to the right was a door that led to a long hallway and tunneled off into several other spaces. 

Drawn to the music, haunting and beautiful, Clary stood and hesitantly made her way to the hall. The door to the room at the very end was slightly ajar and she could see a wedge of yellow light spilling out. The music was coming from there. Almost as if without consciously doing it, her feet pulled her body toward the sound until she found herself peering through the crack in the door. 

Inside was a large room that had been converted into a dance studio of some sort. The floor was hard and smooth, and a bar ran the length of the wall nearest Clary. The opposite wall was an entire expanse of mirror. In the middle of the room stood a girl of such beauty that it almost physically struck Clary.

She was tall and willowy, with long, sleek hair black as a raven's wing that reached her waist. She was pale, like cracked porcelain, for Clary could see she bore scars and tattoos in certain places. She wore a gauzy white dress that flared and twisted with her movements as she spun and whirled across the large expanse of room. Up on her pink-silk clad toes, the girl bobbed and weaved beautifully to the haunting music, her face glistening with perspiration. The music began to build to a crescendo, the high, watery voices meshing with the bass of the drum beats, and her dancing intensified, her arms like white ribbons flickering toward the ceiling as she lept and spun and bent and crouched, getting faster, and faster, until the music shut off abruptly with a clash of sounds and she fell to her knees in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily. 

Clary had never seen anything so passionate and breathtaking in her entire life. There was something about watching someone do what they love, when they are absorbed in their intensity of love without fear of being watched by another person, that sparked an unbridled and unprecedented affection in her. This girl did not just have talent, she had heart. She had spirit. She had intensity. She looked as delicate as a doll, but watching her dance Clary had observed the muscles tightening and coiling under her creamy skin and knee that this girl was fierce, and not to be messed with. She intrigued and intimidated Clary, and although she desperately wanted to see more dancing, she turned away from the door for fear of being caught like a peeping Tom. 

"Oh, don't just disappear that way, whoever you are. Come in here." The strong, raspy timbre of the voice startled Clary. She didn't expect that voice to come from such a delicate looking girl. And she definitely didn't expect the girl to know she was there. 

Clary entered the room with her head ducked sheepishly, embarrassed at being caught spying. To preface the awkwardness, she spoke quickly, "That was absolutely beautiful. I didn't mean to spy, I just heard the music." 

The girl quirked a thick, dark, perfectly arched eyebrow. "From all the way outside?"

"Oh! Oh, no, no, no. I'm a friend of your brother's, Jace I mean. He brought me here to meet you and...and Alec." She quickly replied, recalling Alec's name from previously. The girl seemed surprised at this mention of Jace, and her eyes widened. Clary noticed that they, too, were dark, almost black. Onyx jewels, framed my kohl colored lashes. 

"Jace? Brought you to meet us? You must be special. Peculiar that I haven't heard anything about you beforehand." The girl smirked and gracefully hoisted herself off the floor, extending a hand to Clary. "I'm Isabelle, but the boys call me Izzy." 

"Uh, Clary. Clary Fairchild." She replied clumsily, grasping Isabelle's hand, and noticing her unusually strong grip. 

"There you are! I see you've met my sister, Izzy." Jace's voice came from behind them, making Clary jump. She turned and he stood leaning in the doorway with his hand shoved into his pockets, smiling in a lopsided way that made Clary's butterflies go wild. 

"Yes, she has. How come you didn't tell us about her before, Jace?" Izzy asked, brows furrowed in confusion. 

"You didn't ask." He replied with a sarcastic smirk, moving to the side to reveal another figure in the doorframe. It was a boy, and he was tall and firmly built, with a strong, clean-cut jaw, and dark like Isabelle. But while her eyes were a dark onyx, his were a pale blue. They could both be supermodels, Clary thought. "This is my brother Alec."

"So nice to meet you, Alec. I'm Clary, Jace's...friend." She introduced herself, holding out a hand for him to shake. He eyed it suspiciously before taking it. Clary got the feeling he didn't take as kindly to strangers as did his sister. Clary as well didn't know what she was to Jace. Were they just friends? Were they dating? Were they neither? What were they?

"Well, if you'll excuse us then, I'll just be showing Clary around the house, then to my room." Jace said, jerking his head toward the hallway, motioning for Clary to go with him. She started toward him when the girl, Izzy, grabbed her arm. 

"You didn't even let her change out of her work clothes before you brought her here, Jace? She's got to be uncomfortable." Isabelle admonished, wagging a finger dramatically at him, then bending to unlace the ribbons of her pointe shoes. She dropped them unceremoniously on the floor. "C'mon, I can lend you some clothes."

Clary was confused. She was perfectly fine in her uniform, if only a little out of place in this beautiful home. And why was this girl acting so buddy-buddy? Clary turned and gave the girl a look that expressed these concerns, but Isabelle simply nudged her and cut her a look that said no questions, and pushed past the boys into the hallway, dragging Clary by the wrist. Clary turned her head and met Jace's eyes, which twinkled with a knowing mischief. Apparently Isabelle was notoriously unpredictable. 

The girl's bedroom was yet again something Clary would not have expected. All pink and pastels and roses, with glitter and lace and all things inherently frilly adorning the bed, the walls, the chairs, the floor. There was a vintage mirror and vanity table covered in pots and tubes of makeup that Clary could only dream the uses of. 

"Alright, sit down. You're small, but I think I have some old clothes that might fit you." Isabelle ordered, pointing to the four poster canopy bed in the middle of the room. Clary sat obediently, atop discarded bras and boots and stockings covered in lace and beads, scattered all over the comforter. The room was a horrid mess, really. 

"Why did you really bring me up here?" Clary asked warily, watching the tall girl rifle through her large, unorganized closet, throwing things out into a small pile behind her. 

"Ah, smart girl." Isabelle clicked her tongue. "I want to know about you and Jace." She said deviously, and although Clary couldn't see her face, she imagined there was a look of mischief upon it. 

"What about us?" She bluffed.

"Oh, come on. Jace's friend? Jace doesn't bring home his conquests." Clary blanched at the word. So Jace did this sort of thing with girls often. Not that she should have been surprised, but it still hurt a bit to know she could just be another notch in his belt. 

"Uh, we, uh, well. Jace and I met at my work when he brought in some...risqué self portraits." Isabelle burst out laughing. "And from then we've become good...friends." Clary finished cautiously. 

"Has he kissed you or not?" The girl demanded uncouthly. 

"What? No! I mean, maybe. I mean, yes, he has." Clary blushes deeply. 

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, you can trust me. I don't get many girl friends to gossip with," said Izzy with a conspiratorial wink, tossing a pile of clothes at Clary. "Those are some of my more...conservative things." 

Clary held up the garments. A pair of slick black leggings, and a white cotton...something. It looked too small to be a shirt, but Clary couldn't picture any other use for it. 

"It's a crop top." Isabelle said exasperatedly, motioning for Clary to remove her uniform. 

"Close your eyes." Isabelle met this request with a look that said oh cmon, seriously? but Clary raised her brows. "I've never even met you. Not everyone can be a supermodel." 

"Fine." Isabelle threw up her hands and turned around exaggeratedly while Clary finagled on the items. 

"Do you really need to see my stomach?" Clary asked dubiously, standing in the mirror. 

"Do you like my brother?" Isabelle asked in retaliation. 

"Well...I mean, yeah." Clary admitted, shrugging her shoulders sheepishly. 

"I'm doing you a favor here. You look hot." Isabelle smirked. "I want a girl friend, so I want Jace to keep bringing you around. And you seem sweet enough. So, go forth and be sexy!" She squealed deviously, pushing Clary toward the door. 

"This is ridiculous," she mumbled, but she obliged, and followed her guiding hands out into the hall. She would have to ask about the dancing another time, she guessed.


	13. Chapter 13

Isabelle guided Clary out to the staircase and up onto a wide landing that housed three large rooms. She pushed her towards a large, ornate wooden door on the left and nodded at it, indicating that it was Jace's room. 

"I'll just leave you two at it, then. Don't make any babies, I have condoms if you need them!" Isabelle called jokingly over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. Clary was floored, her face turning bright red. She hoped Jace didn't hear that and think she had been talking about him. Tentatively, Clary knocked on Jace's door. 

"Isabelle finally get done with ya?" He asked as he opened the door. "She's quite a firecracker, to say the least. Hope it wasn't too awful bad." Clary definitely noticed the look that Jace was giving her outfit, and she felt as ridiculous as she looked. She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. 

"I wish she'd just let me keep my uniform on," Clary mumbled, stepping into the room, feeling it's plush carpet beneath her toes. 

"Why? I think you look sex- I mean, nice. I think you look very...nice." Jace hastily corrected himself, running a hand through his blonde hair with a soft chuckle. 

"That's exactly why." Clary retorted accusingly. "I don't want you to think of me like that." Clary tugged on her shirt and folded her arms over her chest, trying to shrink into herself. 

"Like what?" He asked, tilting his head. 

"Like I'm just like all the other girls you've been with. That you can just, you know, kiss me and all of a sudden I'm willing to throw myself at you or something, or that - that I'm..." Clary could feel herself getting frustrated at not being able to voice how she felt, frustrated at feeling so uncomfortable in her own skin, frustrated that she was here and not where she belonged, with Simon. 

"Hey, hey calm down, it's alright." Jace spoke gently and softly, coming forward to place his hands on Clary's shoulder. His fair colored brows furrowed together as he bent down to her height to be eye level with her. "What other girls? What are you talking about, Clary?"

"Isabelle said that you have lots of girls all the time, and that it was weird for you to bring me here. I don't know what we are, Jace, or if we're even anything at all, and I probably sound insanely stupid right now even talking about this, but I don't want you to look at me like a...like a...a conquest." Clary recalled the word Isabelle had used, the one that had hurt her so. She felt so ridiculous and stupid standing there in the tall girl's clothes, discussing her feelings with a boy who in all honesty probably didn't even care.

Jace ran a hand over his face tiredly, as if he was exhausted with the conversation already, and didn't reply for a few moments. When he did, his words were deliberate and carefully chosen. 

"Clary, I am not going to take advantage of you, if that's what you think. I would never do something like that. I honestly just wanted for you to meet my family, since I got to meet yours...however, unconventional it was. Don't worry about what Isabelle said, okay, don't worry about anything she says. She doesn't get out much and doesn't have a...a filter. Okay?" He gripped her shoulders, but she turned her face away from him. 

"Okay, but why did you bring me here when you never brought anyone else? I'm just...confused, Jace. I hardly even know you."

"Honestly? I don't really know." He gave a small smile and turned her face to him, catching her eyes with his. "You have a...a light. A fire. There's something about you that draws me to you, no matter how much I want to stay away." Clary shook her head in disagreement, a sad smile tugging her lips. "I see you shaking your head, and I'm telling you right now that you're wrong. You're a brave soul. You've got spirit. You're independent, like a spark that leaps from the fire. You're more than anyone else I've ever met." His tawny eyes were wide and alert, flickering with electricity. Clary imagined she could feel them burning her skin with the intensity of their gaze. What had she gotten herself into? 

"You got all that after two weeks of knowing me?" She replied somewhat sarcastically in a quiet voice, trying to quell the feelings that rose up in her whenever he spoke. 

"It's been a rather eventful two weeks, wouldn't you say?" A flash of his chipped tooth, the dimple in his left cheek, the way a lock of hair fell into his eyes. Clary was looking at an angel incarnate. 

She nodded and shrugged, admitting defeat, but kept quiet. She didn't trust her voice, but she knew Jace was waiting on her to say something. 

"What is this?" She managed to croak out, motioning between their two bodies. 

"Do we have to label it?" He dodged her question with another question, his voice husky. He leaned toward her, his lips parting...

Clary stepped away from him, clearing her throat nervously. "No, I, uh, I suppose we don't." She pressed her lips into a thin line and turned away from him, pretending to admire his bedroom. It was very plain and neat, no personal items in sight, which Clary felt was rather odd. She had thought that perhaps Jace had been interested in her, but he was obviously not interested in her enough to use her for anything other than entertainment. Someone sweet to kiss when he was lonely and bring home to his family, someone plain and likeable. Homely. Clary wished she were exotic and mysterious and beautiful, like the girl Isabelle. 

"Clary, I'm -" Jace started, but she pretended not to hear him, purposefully keeping her back turned. She picked up a book that was lying on a beautiful mahogany desk in the corner.

"Wuthering Heights," She murmured, turning the book over in her thin, paint-stained hands. "My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary." Clary quoted, closing her eyes to remember more clearly, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Ah, pretentious Little Red. Quoting literature from memory." Jace teased, sauntering up behind her. 

"It's my favorite." She replied back, more to herself than to him. It was a beautiful copy, hardback, with lovely illustrations of Catherine and Heathcliff standing on Penistone Crags on the cover. 

"Is it? I couldn't stand the thing. Everyone in there is so full of hate, it's a horrible story." Jace wrinkled his nose in disgust, causing Clary to pull the book to her chest protectively. 

"It's passionate. It's raw. It captures the pure madness that accompanies love in the most fantastic way. How can you not love it?" 

"Figures, you would be that girl. The hopelessly romantic girl to analyze classic literature." He rolled his eyes jokingly but Clary was not amused. 

"What is your problem?" She demanded, looking up at him angrily through hunched brows, her jaw set. 

"I don't have a problem. Do you?" He challenged, lifting his chin and looking down at her.

"Yes, actually. It's you." Clary retorted with venom. 

"What is it now?"

"'What is it now?'" Clary repeated with astonishment. "I can't keep up with you Jace! It's like you have two different personalities and I never know which one is going to answer me next. One minute you're kind and sweet and the next you're a crude bastard! It's exhausting!" 

"I'm a crude bastard?" He repeated in a low, dangerous voice, his eyebrows raised. "Is that what you called me?"

"What? Are you going to do something?" Clary challenged. "Or are you going to just send me out? It's not like I actually matter, right? I'm just someone you had to catch. You don't even like me at all, do you? Huh? Do you? You were just pissed off that I wouldn't call you, couldn't stand to be rejected by some little red headed bitch who works at a convenience store, for God's sake. You had to have me, toy with me, and now I've proved to be a little too much trouble than I'm actually worth. Right?" When Jace didn't answer, she probed again. "Right?" She repeated with a threatening edge. 

A muscle in Jace's jaw twitched and his eyes were stormy. "Right. Go." He replied dully.

"What?" Clary repeated, feeling as though she had just been backhanded.

"I said you're right. I am sending you out. Go." He jerked a thumb towards the door, and his heart hurt. He didn't know why he did this, why he switched back and forth between demeanors, nice at once and crude the next moment. He didn't want Clary to have to deal with him, so he had to play the bad guy. All he really wanted to do was kiss her cute mouth. He could hardly even stand it, to let her think all those things about herself in his name. 

If looks could kill, Jace would have been vaporized on the spot. Clary seethed, glaring up at him from where she stood. "Fine," she spit, "but I'm taking this damned book with me since it's obviously of to use to someone like you!" She snatched the book and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that it shook the walls. Jace sighed. What had he gotten himself into?


	14. Chapter 14

Twenty minutes later, Jace realized to his horror that Clary had had to walk all the way back to her truck, halfway across town. 

"Goddammit!" He shouted, kicking his armoire so hard in frustration that the wooden doors popped open. He turned and slammed a flat palm against the wall angrily before snatching up his keys, shoving his feet into his boots, and dashing down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. This was precisely why he never let anyone in, because they always ended up tired and frustrated and hurt. He was not an easy person to be around. 

Before getting into his car he decided to try Isabelle first, and see if Clary had stopped to see her before leaving. Unfortunately, he received no luck. Isabelle shook her head and shrugged unhelpfully. "I haven't seen her. I did hear her leave though. Sounds like you were a pretty big asshole. As usual. Oh, by the way, she left her uniform here." Jace didn't have time for this. He rolled his eyes and took off at a jog towards the driveway, praying that Clary hadn't made it far yet. 

The cool night air whipped at Clary's arms, and the rough, jagged gravel and asphalt under the soles of her bare feet left them tender and sore. She was tired of walking and she didn't even want to think how much further she had to go before she reached her truck, but she had too much pride to even consider calling Jace or Simon. They both hate me now anyway, she thought dryly, and continued walking, folding her arms over her chest to hold in some warmth. It was spring, but the beginning of it, and the nights were still cold. 

Clary couldn't decipher any of her emotions. She couldn't tell if she was sad or angry or hurt or nothing at all. She was a jumble of everything, a clump of necklaces shoved in a drawer that have looped impossibly around each other. She thought back to Simon, and how he had turned on her, blaming her for what had happened and blaming her for feelings concerning Jace. She remembered the way Jace had humiliated her, kicking her out of his home like she was nothing but trash. She supposed that much was true, she was trash, but she didn't deserve to be put out that harshly. Suddenly Clary realized just how much she missed her mother. 

Tears welled in the small girl's emerald eyes and fell silently down her cheeks as she continued making her way through the dimly lit side streets of her hometown, trying to find her way back to the Duck In. She swiped angrily at her eyes. She didn't deserve to be crying, she had done it to herself, after all. But the more she thought about it, the faster the tears came, until she could scarcely see where she was going for all the tears blurring her vision.

Sniffling, she ducked into a narrow alley and sank down against the dingy brick wall to give her feet a break. Just as Clary buried her face in her knees and let go, her phone rang. It was a text from Jace. 

I'm so sorry, Little Red. Where are you? I'm coming to get you. 

Clary slammed her phone onto the ground. If he thought a simple "I'm sorry" was going to make it all better he was sadly, sadly mistaken. She had been absolutely humiliated by him, and she wasn't about to let that go. The text message made her tears flow harder, anger spurring them on, and she let out a few loud sobs to relieve the pressure in her chest. A few sobs turned into a few more, and a few more, until she was crying outright, curled up barefoot on the dirty ground in a dark narrow alleyway. She had hit a new low in her life. No father. No brother. No friends. A traumatized mother. She had never felt this aching hollowness in her chest before, as if someone had simply reached in and plucked out her heart. Her body lurched with every sob and she shoved her dainty fists into her eyes, trying to quell the tears.

Then. Movement from the shadows near the alley entrance. Clary heard the noise and bolted upright, tears still dribbling down her neck and into the gap between her breasts and her shirt. She watched frantically for several terrifying moments, trying to sense whether what had made the noise was still there. Just as she decided she had imagined it and began to get up, dusting off the back of her leggings, a man emerged into the dim light that knifed diagonally across the alley from the neon signs across the road. He wore dark, pressed jeans, loafers, and a pastel colored shirt with a tan hoodie over it. His was probably in his early twenties, and his hair was dark, nearly black, and shaggy, which did not fit with the rest of his clean-cut image. In the poor lighting, this was all Clary could make out of him. 

He stepped towards her slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. "Are you alright?" He asked in a concerned tone, reaching out his hand to her. He seemed nice enough, but Clary was still on her guard. As a woman, you always have to be on your guard. 

"I'm fine, thank you." She replied shortly, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. 

"Are you lost? You must be freezing, without shoes like that. Come on, let me give you a ride or something. We can go back to my dorm and I'll get you something to eat." He offered, approaching her still closer. So she was right, he was a college student. Maybe Clary had even unknowingly seen him around campus. Now that he was nearer, Clary could see that his eyes were pale green and that his jaw was square and sharp. 

"I'm not homeless." She snapped back defensively. Then she corrected her tone and made her voice gentler, "I'm just walking to my car from a friend's house. It's very close by, actually, so I'll just get going..." Clary cautiously began to approach the entrance to the alley, which also was the only exit, expecting the stranger to move out of her way and let her by. He stayed firmly put. 

"Well, I could give you a ride to your car if you need." He said, in a tone that made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a command. 

"No, thank you," Clary replied slowly and cautiously, feeling a familiar sense of fear settle in her belly. There was something wrong about this. "It's just right around the corner, that really won't be necessary." She hoped he didn't press the issue further, for her truck was actually about another half mile or so away. 

"I'll walk you to it then, if it's so close." He stated, advancing toward Clary. She took two steps back.

"No, really, it's fine. Thank you, but I'm just going to go -" Clary tried to dart past the boy and out the exit but she was jerked back by a firm grip around her wrist. She whirled around with a look of alarm, tugging violently at her wrist. The boy let go as if it had burned him, and tried to reconcile the situation. 

"I really couldn't live with myself if I let you go." He said, and Clary was uneasy about the undercurrent of his tone. "What's your name, girly?" He asked with a smirk forming on his lips, stepping towards her. 

"Isabelle." She lied quickly, and hoped he didn't notice. She didn't want this boy to know any of her information. 

"Well, well, well. A pretty name for a pretty girl." He took two more steps toward Clary, grinning, and she retreated until her back bumped into the brick wall. "What is a girl like you doing out alone at this time of night? That's dangerous, you know." 

Now she knew without a doubt that something was wrong. Every alarm in her body was going off, telling her to run. She knew if she did, she wouldn't get far. Her pulse quickened with fear and she found herself wishing she had conquered her pride and told Jace where she was. Too late now, as her phone still lay on the ground a few feet away. 

"I already told you what I was doing." She replied in a deliberately measured tone, never taking her eyes from his sharp face. "Now, if you would please leave me be so that I can be on my way, I would appreciate it. You're making me uncomfortable." She tried to appear reasonable and calm, maybe he would relent and stop messing with her. 

"Hey, you know what? I think I've seen you around. Do you go to State?" He asked, completely ignoring her protests, stepping yet again closer until he was inappropriately near her, causing her to flatten herself against the wall. Clary refrained from answering, but the stranger nodded knowingly. "You do, you do. I remember. I've seen you. Clary, I think." Her eyes widened and she knew she was caught. He noticed her reaction and pursued it. "Ah, yep. Definitely Clary. Right? Not Isabelle." His eyes darkened to a forest green, angry at being lied to. His left hand shot out suddenly and pinned her by her chest to the wall, while his right hand reached up to caress her face. 

Clary jerked her head away from his hand disgustedly. "Get away from me." She spit. 

"Fiesty, are we? I like that." He winked and leaned in, pressing his mouth on hers, gripping her chin roughly in his hand. It was suffocating and hot, nothing like Jace's. It made her skin crawl, and she brought her knee up reflexively, hitting him in the stomach. He bit her lip hard and cried out, backing away from her a few inches, clutching his abdomen. Clary took her chance and screamed as loud as she could, darting past his doubled over figure. She got maybe two feet before she was tackled, hard, to the ground, her teeth clacking together. She tasted the metallic of blood in her mouth as she bit her tongue. 

"Little bitch!" The man whisper-yelled angrily into her ear, his body weight pinning her on her back. He slapped her and her eyes filled with tears at the sting, his large, meaty hand pressed over her mouth and nose, muffling any attempts to scream for help. Fear was overtaking her now, fear so blind and raw that it became panic, and panic helps no one. She lost all sense of logic and control, thrashing violently beneath him to gain even an inch of wiggle room to maneuver and perhaps escape. "Come on, don't be that way, Clary...I'm just trying to help you." He tried to soothe her in a gentle, reassuring voice, but it only heightened her terror. She was panting hard and her thrashing was getting her nowhere. 

Stop. Think, Clary, think. She racked her brain for some sort of escape plan, and found one that was far fetched, but it was all she had. Jace hadn't taught her any defense that could be used from this position. She went completely limp, she stopped struggling, and relaxed beneath his weight. He took this is a sign of surrender, and smiled, his teeth glinting. 

"There we go, atta girl..." His hand snaked under her shirt and everywhere he touched made her skin feel as though it were being crawled on by filthy insects. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Couldn't believe it. She squinted her eyes shut tight as his hand groped at the waist of her leggings, tugging them down hard. She heard them tear down the side with a loud rrriiipp and launched her plan into motion.

When she and Simon were little, he talked constantly. Sometimes, if Clary was fed up with it, she would put her hand over his mouth to shut him up. Not to be stopped or quieted, Simon would stick his tongue out and lick her hand, making her pull it away. Reminded of this, Clary darted her tongue out, licking the inside of the strangers palm. It tasted salty and dirty. He pulled it back reflexively with a puzzled look on his face, but before he could say or do anything, Clary bit down on his hand as hard as she could, digging her teeth into his skin. 

"Ow, fuck!" He cried, yanking his hand free of her vice and sitting up slightly, and she saw that she had drawn blood. With slightly more room to move around, she brought her knees up and kicked his chest with her feet, mustering all the strength in her legs she could, and he was forced off of her. Clary wasted no time scrambling to her feet, a bit unsteadily.

She took off sprinting toward the alley entrance, screaming. She had learned in high school that screaming fire was more effective than screaming rape, so that's exactly what she did. She could only scream it once before she felt a searing pain in her scalp as she was grabbed roughly by the hair. She lurched forward, hearing the rip as a clump of her hair came away in his hands and she shouted in pain, whirling around to face her attacker, her fists in place like Jace showed her. 

"What do you want from me?" She asked the question to distract him, and the moment of thought he took to respond was the moment Clary swung her first forward with every ounce of strength she had, and felt it connect with his nose in a sickening crunch. Blood instantly ran from his nostrils and his head rocked back, making him sway unsteadily as he clutched his nose.Before he could retaliate, Clary swung again, hitting him in the throat. The wind went out of him in a whoosh and he dropped to his knees, gasping. 

Clary ran. 

She didn't realize she was crying again until she was a good two blocks away. She hadn't stopped running since she had fled the alley, her feet couldn't even register the command to stop moving. She ran harder than she ever had before in her life. Clary didn't know where to find the police station, and she didn't even know whether she had anything to report. Nothing actually happened so was she allowed to say anything? She felt like she definitely should. She didn't know her attackers name, but she knew what he looked like and could give a good description. She knew he went to the same university as her. 

Absorbed in her spiraling, spinning thoughts, Clary didn't even notice the black sports car that was flying down the street until it screeched on its brakes loudly, coming to a stop just inches away from her body as she was crossing the street. She squealed in surprise, and when she spun to get a look at the driver, hands braced against the hood of the car, she recognized the familiar fair-haired head behind the wheel.

Jace.


	15. Chapter 15

"Fucking Christ!" Jace shouted as he slammed on his brakes, making his head jerk forward. A small, bedraggled redheaded girl was running across the street; she had seemed to come out of nowhere. There was a rip down the left side of her pants, and her dirty off-white shirt was rucked up nearly all the way to her breasts, exposing her pale midriff. When she spun to look at Jace, hands braced against the hood of his car, he noticed that her lips were swollen and her chin and mouth were slightly bloody, and her eyes were wild.

Then it hit him like a bullet in the back. That was Clary. He made an exclamation of surprise and shock, his mouth falling open. He threw the car into reverse and backed up so he would be able to pull in and park alongside the curb. What in God's name had happened to her? 

He shoved open the drivers side door and leapt out of the car, rushing to her side. Clary stood stock still in the middle of the road, blinking fast as tears continuously pooled and spilled from her beautiful eyes. "Clary!" He shouted, brushing her hair away from her face. He placed his hands on either side of her face and knelt to look directly into her eyes. "Clary, oh Christ, Clary what happened? Are you okay?" 

Clary nodded yes slowly, as if in a daze. Her eyes were wide and panicked, unable to rest on a single spot very long, roaming around and around to each new landmark they could find. 

"Clary, what happened?" Jace quickly took inventory of her injuries. The bloody chin appeared to be the consequence of a busted lip and bitten tongue. Her cheek was red and swollen slightly, and she had a few scratches on her arms and sides. His stomach clenched and Jace thought he might throw up. He had done this to her. 

"I...I...I....was...there was...he..." Clary struggled to form her words into a coherent sentence, as her thoughts bounced back and forth from one thing to another. Her speech was partially obscured and slurry due to her bitten tongue and lip. Jace waved a hand dismissively and pulled her into his side. She didn't feel like resisting. 

"You can tell me in the car, we need to get you inside somewhere, you're freezing." He guided her to the car with his arm across her shoulder, gently helping her into the passenger seat. Once he slid into the drivers seat he turned on the heat to warm up her icy feet and hands. Jace reached into the backseat and dug around until he found a plaid blanket and draped it over her, trying and failing not to think about how alone she must have felt when whatever happened happened. He wished he had a first aid kit for that lip of hers. 

"Clary. What happened?" He tried again. Clary couldn't answer. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, pressing hard enough that colors bloomed behind his eyelids. "Were you attacked?" He asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away from it and nodded yes with a trembling lip. He could tell she was trying hard to keep her tears controlled. He gasped softly, though he had already had a gut feeling that she had been. 

"Who was it?" He asked, feeling anger starting to seep into his veins. She shook her head and shrugged, sucking her lip into her mouth to hide its trembling. She took a deep, shaky breath and closed her eyes softly. 

"Did he - I mean, are you..did he..." Jace couldn't even bring himself to say the word raped. If Clary had been raped because he had thrown her out like he had, he would never forgive himself. He hated himself in that moment nearly more than he ever had in his life, only second to the incident with his parents. He fucked everything up. He could never do anything right, he always, always hurt people. 

"He tried to." Clary's voice was thin but strong, reminding Jace of the fire he so loved about her. It made him hurt for her even more. "He almost did. I did what you taught me, Jace. I did it right. I kept my left fist up." She spoke without looking at him, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Jace felt like he had been punched in the gut. He was filled with a white hot rage. He would kill the man who did this. Her voice echoed in his head, reverberating around his skull: he almost did, he almost did, he almost did, he almost did...

Jace slammed a fist angrily on the steering wheel, and it made Clary jump and flinch away from him. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh Christ, Clary, I...I didn't mean..." Nothing he could ever say would make this alright. He would live with this forever, he would know that he had thrown this wonderful, innocent girl out on the street because he was a selfish bastard and she had been attacked. She had feared for her life because of him. Guilt was strangling him.

"We need to go to the police station and make a report." He stated, staring at Clary, willing her to do or say anything, anything that could relieve his guilt. She didn't. 

"Take me to my mom's house." She said quietly, holding her hands up in front of her and staring at them. They shook. 

"We need to go to the police, Clary." He repeated again softly, brushing her hair away from her face. 

"I said, take me to my mom's house!" She repeated, nearly shouting. "I want to see my mom! I want to see my mom." Her voice broke on the last word and her lip trembled. Jace could shove a dagger through his heart and it would be less painful than this. 

"I'm going to call your mom, Clary. Do you know her number by heart? We're going to the police station." He reached for her hand but she snatched it away and turned to face him for the first time, her green eyes ablaze, staring accusingly into him. 

After several long moments she spoke. "Of course I know my own mother's number by heart. 555-7613." 

Jace could think of a million things he would rather do than call this girl's mother and tell her what he had done. He would rather be whipped, would rather be beaten, would rather drive off a cliff, than call this traumatized, battered, single mother, and tell her that he had all but done the same to her little girl. 

Slowly, slowly, he dialed the numbers. He put the phone to his ear and the ringing seemed to stretch out forever, it would never end. Then a soft voice from the other end inquired, "hello?"

"Mrs. Fairchild, this is...this is Jace Herondale. I don't know if you remember me or not. I am so sorry, but I need you to meet me at the police station. Clary has been attacked and needs to file a report." The words were difficult to get out, like each one had to squeeze by a rock lodged in his throat. He heard Clary's mother gasp. 

"How bad is it? Is she okay? Does she need to go to the hospital?"

"She's okay. She was...almost...raped." He wanted to gag, wanted to pound his head on the wheel. "She doesn't know who her attacker was. I need you to meet us there. Can you do that?"

Jocelyn gave a cry, a short exclamation of pain that cut Jace down to the bone. "My baby," she whispered. She sniffed. "I'll be there." And the line went dead. 

"I can never forgive myself, Clary." He murmured as he threw the car into drive and sped towards the police station. She refrained from answering. He knew she was probably in shock.


	16. Chapter 16

The lights in the police station were too bright. They hurt her head.

Jace had escorted her in with an arm over her shoulders, opening and shutting doors for her, with the expression of a kicked puppy. At first, Clary had somewhat blamed him. For kicking her out. But now she saw how much he blamed himself, and she knew he blamed himself for all of it. Every aspect of the night was wrongly on his shoulders, and he shouldn't have to bear that weight, much less any extra guilt she decided to lay on. It was no one's fault but her attacker's. 

Jace gently ushered her up to the long counter. A slim, dark man with glasses was sat behind it, an office phone propped between his ear and shoulder. He held up a finger, motioning for them to wait one moment. Clary shut her eyes against the white lights and tried to remember back to a time when everything was okay. How had her life crumbled apart so completely in just two short weeks? 

Momentarily, the police officer, Officer Kennedy she observed, hung the phone on its rest and looked up, hands folded. He had an open, friendly face. 

"What can I help you with?" He asked in a low voice that still managed to remain amiable. 

"We need to report an assault. My...my friend Clary here was just attacked." That was all Jace could manage to say in a firm voice. 

"Names?" The officer asked with an eyebrow quirked as he shuffled through paperwork and slid a clipboard across the counter at them. 

"Jace Herondale and Clarissa Fairchild." He replied, taking the clipboard and a pen from a cup on the counter. The officer nodded and resumed his work. 

"Fill that out, and then we'll see what we can do." 

Jace once again led Clary to a seat, resettling the blanket around her shoulders. He plopped down in the chair next to her and attempted to complete the forms in his hand but found it extremely difficult, as he knew alarmingly little about the girl sitting next to him. He handed her the paper and pen and said kindly, "I think you're going to have to fill this part out." 

She nodded and began inputting her information in her large, loopy handwriting. Birthday, August 5th 1996. Full name, Clarissa Adele Fairchild. Mother's name, Jocelyn Amatis Fairchild neé Morgenstern. Father's name, Valentine Morgenstern. Sex, female. Hair, red. Eyes, green. Height, 5'4. Weight, 100 lbs. Chief complaint, assault. 

She completed the form and stood, the blanket falling from her shoulders, to return it to Officer Kennedy. Jace jumped up from his chair to help her and she shot him a look of sad amusement. "Jace, it's 3 feet away. I think I'll manage." She shook her head with a small smile and returned the form to the officer. Just as she did this, she felt a gust of cold air hit her from behind and ruffle her hair off the back of her neck. She turned and it was as if the room was suddenly set into slow motion. 

Clary's head, spinning around to see where the air was coming from, curls swinging. Jocelyn, in paint stained overalls and boots, running toward her, lips forming her name. Simon, palming open the glass door behind her, glasses sliding down his nose as he looked frantically around for her. Jace, standing straight up from his chair to face them, an expression of anguish on his features. 

Jocelyn reached her first and scooped her into her arms, fingers gathering in her clothes and hair, clutching her daughter's body to her chest for dear life. 

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Let me see, let me see." Jocelyn managed to pull herself away from Clary long enough to inspect her face, turning her chin left and right in strong, thin fingers. She patted down Clary's arms and neck, feeling for what, Clary didn't know. "Oh darling, I am so sorry." 

Clary wondered why people always apologized for things that were not their fault. 

Simon stood with shoulders sagging, watching the scene with poorly disguised guilt and pity. Her pain was his pain, after all. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if he even deserved to hold her safely in his arms after the way he had acted towards her. He felt strangely guilty, and he didn't know why. Movement in his left field caught his eye in his peripheral vision. 

He turned and saw a surprisingly handsome young man in a maroon t-shirt, hands shoved in his black jeans, with a shock of wavy, fair hair that fell to his shoulders, who looked for all the world as dejected as a little boy whose dog had run away. He knew it must be Jace, and knowing that Clary had been in his care when this happened, that he had not protected her, ebbed him of his own guilt and provided him a scapegoat, filling him with righteous anger. Without seeming to consciously decide it, Simon charged across the lobby and shoved his accusing finger in Jace's chest, his face contorted in anger. 

"You! You let this happen!" Simon shouted, pushing Jace backward slightly with every word. The boy just nodded at first, appearing resigned. 

"I'm sorry." Jace replied, turning his eyes downward. 

"She was with you! She was in your care, under your watch! You let this happen to her! You were supposed to protect her!" Simon continued, ignoring Jace's apology. He pushed and pushed and pushed until he had Jace against a wall. 

"I know. I'm sorry." Jace repeated again, more firmly. 

"How could you do this? Huh? She trusted you - !"

Jace had had enough by that point. "She trusted you, too!" He exploded, cutting the other boy off and shoving Simon away from him. "Where were you in all this? At least I had enough common decency to go look for her and bring her here! If you're so well and good, why didn't she call you to come get her? Huh?" Jace shook his head, lip curled in disgust. "So yeah, I let her go. I should have protected her. But so should you. You weren't there for her, either." 

By this point a very young officer had emerged from the hallway and put himself between the two boys, pushing Simon across the room away from Jace. "Hey, hey, hey, come on now. Yall don't want to do this here. Not here." He admonished good naturedly, however still holding firm to Simon's shoulders as he kept him secured against the far wall. He continued glaring at Jace from over the officer's shoulder and Jace stared back, his eyebrows pulled down obscuring his eyes which danced with a fiery amber glow. 

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Clary screeched, slamming the clipboard loudly on the counter with a clank. Everyone froze and turned to stare at her. After a brief moment of silence she cleared her throat awkwardly and handed the forms to Officer Kennedy. He perused them momentarily, then pointed a finger to the hallway where two officers Clary had not previously noticed were standing. 

"I'm gonna need you to go on down the hallway there with Officer Mackenzie and Officer Daniels to give them an official report of everything that occurred. Were there any witnesses to the crime, Miss?" 

Clary shook her head minutely. "'No, sir,"

"Well, then, I'm afraid it's just you and the officers allowed back there, sweetheart. Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on those two." He gave a gentle smile and a wink, trying to lighten her heart. She returned the smile and proceeded hesitatingly toward the officers, wringing her hands around and around each other at belly-button level. One of the officers placed a hand lightly on her back and guided her down the hall. Clary glanced back once and saw all three of them, Jocelyn, Simon, and Jace, all with their eyes downturned. 

The room was square, with grey cinder block walls and floor. A long rectangular table was set in the middle of the room with three folding chairs placed around it, and the only window was the long dark panel set into the wall they came in from, that allowed people to see in but no one to see out. One-way tinted glass. Clary felt claustrophobic and afraid and cold, and wished she had kept the blanket that she had abandoned in the lobby. Officer Daniels pulled out a chair for her and it made an awful racket as it scraped across the floor, grating on her nerves. She sat down, hunching forward, hugging her arms to her chest. Her hair hung limply into her face and she couldn't quit working her teeth across the cut in her lip, reopening it and making it bleed. 

Officer Mackenzie, a tall and stout man, spoke first in his gruff timbre. 

"First thing you need to know, Miss Fairchild, is that this is a safe place. You can tell us what happened. Second thing you need to know, is that whatever you do tell us, has to be the truth. You know the spiel, 'I swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God' and all that." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and nodded solemnly at her. She nodded back. 

"Yes, sir." Her voice wasn't as strong as she wished it to be.

"Miss Fairchild -" began Officer Daniels, but Clary cut in. 

"You can just call me Clary."

"Clary," he corrected himself, then continued on formally. "Let's start with where you were tonight. Can you give us a run-through of what exactly happened?" 

Clary closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes." Her tone split and she cleared her throat. "I was at Jace's house, the...the boy in the waiting room. The blonde one." She paused, and Officer Mackenzie, who was taking notes on a yellow legal pad, nodded. "We had an argument, and I left - " Officer Daniels interrupted her. 

"Without shoes?" He asked, glancing pointedly at her bare feet, tinged slightly purple from the cold. 

"Yes, his, uh...his sister wanted to dress me up because I was in my work uniform when I went over there. I left my shoes in her room and didn't stop to get them on my way out. I just...didn't think about it." She shrugged and Officer Mackenzie nodded, urging her to continue. 

"He lives in the historical district, those big houses in downtown, you know? And he drove us there earlier today so I didn't have a ride, I had to walk all the way to my truck; I left it in the parking lot at the Duck In where I work. About a quarter of the way there, my feet started hurting really bad and I was getting cold, so I stopped to rest in a space between two buildings." Clary squeezed her eyes shut. The more she told the story out loud the more she felt like it was her fault. 

"What two buildings?" Inquired Officer Mackenzie, pen poised above the paper. 

"I don't remember the buildings, but I remember I was near the corner of Front Street and Magnolia."

"Was it the martial arts building and the coffee place, Blue Sail? There's an alley between those two." Offered Officer Daniels helpfully. She nodded, snapping her fingers. 

"Yes! That's it." 

"Go on, Clary." 

"When I got there, I sat down against the wall. Jace texted me and asked me where I was so he could come get me, but...I was too mad at him to let him help. So I threw my phone and didn't answer him. Right after I did that, a man came in from the front of the alley and asked if I was alright." 

"And what did this man look like? Can you describe him for us? As best you can, tell us height, weight, race, any of that."

Clary nodded emphatically. "He seemed about early twenties, tall and muscular. Maybe 6'1, 185. White. He had...dark, shaggy hair, and pale green eyes. I remember because they were frightening. A big nose...kinda." She gave a halfhearted shrug. "That's all I can really remember." 

The officers nodded. "Did he tell you his name?" 

"No. No, but he did say he went to college at State U." She tucked her hair behind her ears nervously.

"Go on with your account, Miss. What happened after he asked if you were okay?"

"I said that I was, and he offered repeatedly to take me to his house. I said no every time but thanked him for being kind and tried to make it around him and out onto the street, but then he grabbed my wrist. He asked me my name and I lied and said it was Isabelle. He bought it for a few minutes but then said he recognized me from State U, where we go to school, and he knew my real name. He got...angry. That I had lied to him. He pushed me against the wall and started to kiss me." Clary pressed her palms into her eyes, making colors bloom behind the dark lids.

"Take your time." Officer Daniels said gruffly.

She nodded and breathed deeply through her nose before going on. "I said 'Get your hands off of me' and spit. I remember he said...he said, 'Feisty, are we, girly? I like that.' and kept kissing me. I kneed him in the stomach which made him bite my lip, and when he let go of me I screamed and started running for the exit." She squeezed her eyes shut and paused again, taking a breath to compose herself. Her heart beat faster in fear at the memory. 

"He tackled me from behind and I hit my head on the concrete. He...he turned me over onto my back and put his hand over my mouth and nose so I couldn't scream. He put...put his hand up my shirt. I started thrashing around, I was so scared. I was so scared." Clary whispered. "He said 'stop it, Clary, I'm only trying to help you.' And then he ripped my leggings and pulled them down." She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again. "I was so scared. I bit his hand hard enough to draw blood, and when he pulled it back I kicked him in the chest to get him off of me. I took off running again and he grabbed my hair, but I just kept running. A handful came off in his hand, and I spun around and asked him why he was doing this to me. Then I punched him in the nose, and in the throat. He went down and I ran." 

Clary sat back, feeling as if an elephant had finally got up from her chest after sitting on it so long, the weight gone after finally telling what had happened. Officer Mackenzie finished up writing notes on the legal pad and Officer Daniels placed his hand on hers comfortingly. 

"I'm very sorry this happened to you, Clary. What you did was very brave." His words sounded hollow though, like he was reciting something he had said a million times before. 

"Well, we will definitely look into it, Miss Fairchild. Rest assured that we will search tirelessly for your attacker, but I'm afraid that the prospects do not look great. There's in all actuality probably nothing we can do." Officer Mackenzie said abruptly, capping his pen. 

Clary blanched. "Nothing you can do? What do you mean nothing you can do? I gave a detailed description, I even told you where he goes to school!" 

He shrugged. "This is a small station, Miss Fairchild. We have a lot of cases and very few officers to work them. I'm afraid your case is just one among many very similar others. I'm not saying we won't work to find your attacker, but the chances of arresting him correctly are slim." He pressed his lips into a line and avoided looking at her. 

"Wh-wh-what do you mean? He...he bit me, he scratched me, you can pull his DNA and run a test right? Figure out his identity?" She looked around wildly, pressing her hands flat on the desk and leaning forward. How could the police, the ones who were supposed to protect her, abandon her this way? 

Officer Daniels chuckled softly. "You really think we have the kind of money for that technology, girly? That's only on TV, for big cases in big cities." Clary flinched, feeling hurt. Her case didn't even matter. She didn't even matter. Once again. She shoved away from the table angrily, her chair scraping the floor.

"So that's it then? I can leave. Because obviously you can't do anything for me." 

"Now, now, we didn't say that -"

"Yes. You did. I was attacked, almost raped, and you're telling me that y-y-you can't help me -"

"Well maybe if you weren't wearing what you're wearing..." She barely heard Officer Mackenzie mutter under his breath. Clary blanched like she had been slapped, a hand flying to her chest. 

"Ex-cuse me?" She demanded, shooting up from her chair and taking several steps back. "Is this how they train an upholder of the law? To blame the victim? This is absolutely ridiculous and I'll not sit here and listen to this any longer." Clary shook her head disgustedly   
and started for the door. She wanted to say more, much more, but she held her tongue. She was smart enough to know that insulting a police officer was among one of the stupidest moves in the book, that'll get your ass hurt in a hurry. Clary flung open the door and darted out into the hallway, the cool cement stinging her bare feet as she ran down the hallway to the lobby, trying to hold back tears. She was so incredibly tired of crying. 

Officers Mackenzie and Daniels followed behind her, all business. When she burst into the waiting room, Jace, Simon, and her mother all jumped up from their seats. "There's nothing that can be done." Clary informed them, practically sneering. She was absolutely furious and humiliated and invalidated and several other emotions that she couldn't even think to name. 

"Nothing?!" Jace and Simon both repeated incredulously at the same time. 

"What do you mean there's nothing that can be done? My daughter was assaulted!" Jocelyn began, expostulating earnestly and gesturing wildly as she spoke. Her face was blotchy and red in the cheeks.

Officer Daniels spread his hands in front of him as he tried to reconcile the situation. "Ma'am, I know you're upset, and rightfully so. I assure you that we will work tirelessly to find your daughter's attacker, but like we told her, we have to be realistic. And with so many cases, there's not much hope for solving hers. Especially as menial as it is." 

"Menial? Menial? Her experiences are menial?" Jace shot forward and got up in the sturdy officer's face, his expression screwed up in anger. Simon, Clary noticed, was right on his heels doing the same, but was considerably less intimidating. "You call yourself a police officer. I thought it was your job to protect the innocent. But maybe you all really are the same, just a bunch of pigs, lazy and stupid and all brute, no cunning." Jace's lip curled disgustedly. He took a breath to go on, but was interrupted by Officer Mackenzie. 

"You have 5 seconds to get out of this station before I arrest you for contempt." The officer was as tall as Jace and just as built as he puffed out his chest and advanced towards Jace, and the two men glared at each other hostilely, Jace's nostrils flared in anger. 

Officer Kennedy broke the tension. His comment was addressed to Clary and her mother. "If he bothers you again, Miss, you come straight to me and I will file you a restraining order." He said kindly, with a sympathetic nod. It was clear that Officer Kennedy did not normally get along with or agree with the other two officers in the room.  
Jocelyn nodded her thanks and wiped the back of her hand against her cheek. 

"C'mon, baby. Let's go." She grabbed the blanket from the stiff waiting room chair and draped it over Clary's shoulders again, escorting her out into the cool night air with an indignant scowl as she looked back at the officers. "Simon. Now. Jace, you too." She barked, and they slunk out the door behind her, bending to her authority more than they would ever bend to the cops'. Simon and Jace both began trying to apologize profusely as they all walked quickly toward their cars, but Clary squeezed her eyes shut and held up a hand. 

"Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for." She sighed heavily. "I just want to go home with my mom." The boys both nodded. They seemed to be mutually ignoring each other, as if they were pretending the other person simply did not exist beside them. Clary smiled wanly, and reached out her hands, grabbing one of Simon's and one of Jace's. She gave each a light and reassuring squeeze. "Thank you. Thank you." She whispered earnestly to Jace, unable to look him in the face. She turned to Simon then. "I love you, S." She whispered. Then Clary turned welcomingly into her mother's soothing embrace as they proceeded home.


	17. Chapter 17

The next few days Clary took off work again and stayed in the house with her mother. Her manager Brenda understood when Clary told her the situation over the phone and Pauline agreed to cover Clary's shift the rest of the week. Simon and Jace called her and texted her and showed up at the front door all week asking her mother if Clary was okay; she knew she needed to talk to them, but she felt like she could only deal with one thing at a time. And she really relished this time she had with her mother, just the two of them once again. 

Clary and Jocelyn were more like sisters than mother and daughter. They ordered Thai takeout for dinner, painted in the studio together, watched romantic comedy movies, painted fingernails and toenails, made breakfast together, and talked about Jace, about Simon, about Jocelyn's idea to start her own business, about everything but their attacks. Those were strictly off limits. 

By the end of the week, however, Jace was getting impatient. He needed to see her. Needed to check on her himself, needed to feel her soft skin under his hands. He thought if he didn't see her soon he might explode. Jace knew he needed to give Clary space, but he wanted her - no, needed her - entirely too much to do that. He had given her space all week. Now he was out of resolve. 

Jace took a quick shower to freshen up, pulling on a pair of ripped and frayed light wash skinny jeans, a thin white v-neck t shirt, and his worn leather jacket. He stood in front of his wood framed full-length mirror and let out a long breath, turning left and right to examine his reflection. He ran his hands through his long, damp blonde hair and gave a practice smile into the mirror, to see what Clary would see. Realizing how stupid he looked doing this, he shook his head,chuckling to himself, and headed out the door, grabbing his keys along the way. The clock read 10:45 pm.

As Clary got ready for bed that night she found herself missing Jace. She didn't want to miss him. Not after the way he treated her at The Lightwood House. But she did nonetheless. She kept remembering the way his lips curled up just before he smiled, and the way he had of walking without making any noise, like he was as graceful as an angel. She remembered the dimple in his left cheek and his endearingly chipped tooth, the way he had run to her side to protect her and the way he had graciously taken the blame for her attack, even though it wasn't his fault. 

Sighing, Clary spit her toothpaste into the sink and rinsed off her face. Then she slipped on the silk floral nightgown her mother had found at a vintage boutique a year or two ago, and opened the blinds so she could see the stars before climbing into bed with her journal and pen. 

Clary wrote and wrote and doodled and drew, until eventually her eyelids started to droop. Her eyes focused and unfocused on the page, and she felt herself constantly dozing in and out. Yawning, Clary tossed the journal onto the carpet and checked her bedside clock - 10:59.

Suddenly, Clary heard a sound from outside the window. She tensed up, drawing her covers up to her shoulders. Her first thought was that it was her attacker again somehow, and her stomach seized up violently at the thought, installing unbridled fear in her. Then, however, she heard the noise again and recognized the figure from whom it came from. It was tall and slender, with a leather jacket and hair lit pale gold by the moonlight. It was Jace. Her body relaxed. She threw off her quilts and padded across the carpet to the window, unlocking it and sliding it up quietly. 

"Jace? You scared the fuck out of me, what are you doing here?" She whisper-yelled somewhat irritatedly. 

"I know this isn't the best way to go about it, but I had to see you. This was the only way." He gave a lopsided grin and shrugged, as if to say "what can ya do?" and motioned toward the room inside. "Can I come in? Or is that..."

"Uh..." Clary looked down at her thin nightgown, her scrawny pale legs exposed, her tangled red hair. She was in no way presentable enough for Jace. But she couldn't turn him away. She didn't want to. "Sure. Yes, you can come in. But be quiet."

Clary moved aside and Jace hoisted himself onto the windowsill, sliding in noiselessly. He turned and shut the window behind him just as quietly, then turned to face her, face beaming. 

"I'm so glad you're okay." He said earnestly, and the sincerity of his voice made Clary's heart flutter. Could he really care about her? 

"Right as rain." Clary replied somewhat timidly and awkwardly, looking down with a grin. When she looked back up, Jace had moved to her bedside table and flicked on the lamp, filling the room with soft, warm yellow light. It lit Clary's curls, making them seem luminescent, radiantly beautiful and coppery. The light illuminated the planes of her face, and hid others, making her seem like a wonderfully carved angelic statue, all angles and fierce loveliness. Jace almost gasped at the sight of her standing there in such effortless splendor. 

"I didn't wake you up did I?" He asked, noticing the shadows under her eyes. 

She shook her head. "No, I was just about to go to sleep when you knocked."

"If you're, uh, if you're tired, you can go to sleep. I didn't mean to keep you up, I just...I needed to see you and check on you myself." He admitted uncomfortably, looking down from the intensity of her beauty. Why had he thought this was a good idea? 

"I understand." She replied in a tone that suggested she really didn't understand. 

Jace motioned to the bed. "Here, let me help you back to bed and I'll just be going." He folded back a heavy lavender quilt for her, exposing the white sheets beneath. "I also just wanted to say how incredibly sorry I am for the way I acted at my house the other night. I deserved everything you said to me and more. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Clary stopped mid-motion as she began climbing into bed and turned to look at him. "Of course I forgive you. You nearly saved my life, twice." She whispered, looking up at him with round eyes and a small smile tugging at her mouth. She finally broke the gaze and finished climbing into bed, a bit shyly. Jace pulled the quilt up and draped it over her shoulders, admiring the way her brilliantly red hair fanned out across the pillow. 

"There you go, Little Red. Get some rest." He said kindly, taking a step back to leave. Her small voice stopped him in his tracks. 

"You don't have to leave, you know. You can stay with me until I fall asleep...if you want." Jace could tell it was a struggle for her to be so bold in an area of conversation such as this one and he appreciated it immensely. Nodding gratefully, he slipped off his boots and gingerly placed them in the corner of her room. 

"You're sure?" He raised one blonde eyebrow.

She nodded bashfully. Jace grinned at her reassuringly as he strode across the room again and climbed onto the bed beside her. He didn't get under the covers with her, though, as he felt that was too soon. 

"Why did you pick me, Jace?" She asked, and he had to lean forward to even pick up her thin voice. 

"Why did I pick you?" He repeated, puzzled. 

"To take home. Why are you interested in me at all?" Jace knew she was genuinely curious, and not fishing for attention. Jace scooted closer to her on the bed, lowering himself down onto his side so he was laying next to her. He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. 

"Because of your spunk. Because of your fire. You have a spark inside you that can't be contained. You're a brave soul and a courageous spirit. You're fiercely protective and you can think for yourself. I like that in a girl." He paused and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth playfully. She giggled. "And...because you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He whispered earnestly, his heart squeezing in fear as he awaited her reaction. She turned to face him, and their faces were just inches apart. 

"Jace, I-I don't know what to say," she stammered, her green eyes wide and lovely. 

"Then don't say anything." He growled huskily, closing the distance between their lips. His mouth molded against hers, melding with the warmth and softness of her lips and skin. His hand reached up to caress her face, brushing a hair out of her eyes. Jace's skin was on fire, every nerve on end as he felt her touch, felt her lips against his. It was like the entire world stopped. Just for her, for them. 

He felt her thin hand come to rest on the back of his neck, drawing him in closer to her. He shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it onto the floor, placing both of his hands on either side of her face as he deepened the kiss. She made a tiny noise into his mouth, kicking the quilts off her legs and pushing them to the foot of the bed. Clary turned her head away for a breath and Jace fell in love with the way her cheeks flushed red and the way her eyes sparkled with desire. He grinned at her, full of joy, and she grinned back, breathing hard. That was all he could take. 

Jace placed his hands on her small yet curvy hips and pushed her back onto the bed, swinging himself on top of her. He supported his weight on his elbows so as not to crush her and crushed his lips against hers, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her ankles together, her slim fingers pushing up the bottom of his shirt. "Jace..." She whispered against his lips, and he smiled against hers. 

"Clary..." He whispered back in mimicry as she pulled his shirt up and over his head. Clary's breath caught in her throat at the sight of his bare chest and back. He was absolutely breathtaking, as if carved from marble. She placed her palms against his bare chest and Jace smiled at her, then leaned down and started placing gentle kisses along the underside of her neck and jaw. The kisses started off soft, but soon became more rough as Jace nibbled at her collarbone and the soft skin of her neck, biting softly and then running his tongue over the wounded area. Before long, Clary was squirming under his weight, her fingernails scratching down his back. 

Jace stopped and looked up at her with tawny eyes full of mischief, his face flushed. She grinned at him, her whole face lighting up joyfully, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her soft hands roamed down his muscular back and roved their way to the front, the tips of her fingers slipping into the waistband of his jeans, tight to begin with and now even tighter. She even gave a wink, feeling bold, and it nearly knocked him out. He was overwhelmed with feelings for her. Jace's large, rough hands caressed her skin, pushing down the thin straps of her nightgown. Down, down, down... Until the tops of her pale breasts shown in the lamplight.  
Down some more, and down....

Suddenly Clary heard a voice from the hall, coming from outside her door. 

"Clary honey, is everything okay? Are you awake?" came Jocelyn's concerned voice. Clary's eyes went wide at the same time Jace's did, and she pushed him off of her frantically, shoving her straps back up. Jace scrambled frantically for his shirt and yanked it on, backwards and inside out and shoved his feet into his boots without bothering to tie the laces. 

"Yeah, mom, I'm fine. I'll be out in just a second. Just...hold on." Clary called back, her whole body singing with the thrill and rush of adrenaline. She pushed Jace toward the window whispering for him to get out. Jace opened the window and began scooting out, none too graceful this time. When he was outside he whirled around and stuck his head through the window, giving Clary one last kiss, his hair a wild blonde mess. She grinned, then shooed him away, whispering a goodbye and sliding the window shut. 

As she turned around she realized Jace had left his jacket there. She picked it up and inhaled his scent, woodsmoke and soap, before shoving it behind her armoire and opening the door to her mother.


	18. Chapter 18

The next day, Clary knew it was time to see Simon. She had avoided him for nearly a week, and she knew it must be killing him. As much as she liked being with her mom again, her heart wrenched at the thought of Simon alone in their apartment, making breakfast and dinner for himself all alone, eating alone, sleeping alone, worrying over her. Clary knew she had been selfish for far too long, and she needed to reconcile it. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she needed Simon. They were in inextricably linked.

To her horror, when she threw back her covers and padded over to the dingy basic mirror in her room that morning, she noticed more than just her unruly bedhead and swollen, sleepy eyes. A large, purplish-red mark stood out on the right side of her neck, as big around as a misshapen nickel. Another dime sized bruise lay just under her collarbone on the left side, with stray red marks here and there surrounding it. With a strangled noise of surprise, Clary slapped her hands over her mouth in shock, her eyes widening. Oh, shit! She leaned in toward the mirror to get a closer look, tilting her head and peering down at her reflection, pressing her fingers gingerly against the bigger mark. It was tender, and she winced, snatching her hand away. Oh no, no, no, no. 

Clary had never gotten a hickey before. How long does it take for these to go away? She rubbed her tired face roughly, pushing her hands up into her hairline and tugging her fingers through her hair. She let out a huff and let her hands drop, smacking her thighs audibly.   
She needed to put her hair up with the way it looked right now, irregularly curled and wavy, sticking up this way and that, but that was obviously not an option anymore. She fluffed her curls, making her hair almost cartoon-like, so it would cover more of her neck. Though it was still warm outside, about 75 degrees, Clary dug through her armoire until she uncovered an old white lace scarf. 

She wrapped it around her neck and positioned it carefully, so that it obscured the largest bruise almost completely. Clary nodded in satisfaction at her work and made a mental note not to move her head around too much and disrupt the scarf placement. She slipped the nightgown straps off her shoulders and it slid to the floor; Clary dressed herself in a pair of loose boyfriend jeans, a lavender blouse and a pair of sandals. She didn't look nice, but she looked almost decent and decided that was as good as it was going to get. 

She grabbed her messenger bag and slipped out of her room in search of her mother. Clary found her in the studio, hard at work on a rather large painting. Jocelyn had her overalls on, crusted in dried paint, brushes sticking out of the pocket on the front. Her hair was braided down her back, tied back with a ribbon, giving her a vintage look. Clary noticed not for the first time how beautiful her mother was, all fine, delicate bones, with a straight nose and sharp eyes. The graceful arc of her neck, the way it sloped seamlessly into her thin, regal shoulders, her collarbones like a bird's wings. Jocelyn always kept her head up, she never slouched. She had the look of a Viking queen, beautiful but ferocious. Clary was like her, but also not, at the same time. Clary thought of it this way: it was if her mother had been drawn in fine pencil, all sharp, clean angles and painting with a steady, delicate hand. Clary had been drawn by the same artist, however with a different medium. Clary was all soft pastels that smear and blow away when touched or breathed on. She was a smudged, softer version of her mother. 

"Hey, Mom, I think I'm going to go see Simon at home. I don't think I'm going to stay there tonight, but I'll let you know." Clary turned to leave, when her mother's musical voice drifted over to her. 

"Be careful. I mean that. Text me when you get there, and don't forget." Jocelyn never took her eyes from her painting, but her voice was urgent and firm. Good, Clary thought, she won't have a chance to notice my neck. 

"I love you," Clary called over her shoulder, sauntering towards the front door, keys jangling. 

"I love you more," Jocelyn called back.

"Not possible,"

"Yes possible."

And then Clary was out the door and in her truck, puttering down the road to her apartment. 

When she arrived, she knocked on the door, however strange that was. She had her own key. It just didn't feel right to walk right in after being gone so long. She shifted her weight anxiously for several moments until finally the door opened just a crack, then was swung wide by Simon, his hair a veritable bird's nest and his glasses askew. 

Simon asked, "Did you finally decide to come home?" at the same time that Clary asked, "Did you honestly just wake up?" Tiffed, they both tried again, garnering the same results. Simon asked, "Yeah, I had to work graveyard last night." at the same time that Clary said, "I just needed to see you." Simon chuckled and it thawed Clary's cold nervousness, warming her up to the situation. Before she could anticipate it, Simon had her folded in his arms in a bear hug, pressing her face into his shoulder as he stroked her hair. 

"Missed you, Fairchild." He mumbled.

"Missed you too, Lewis." She muttered into his chest. 

"I'm so sorry." He said earnestly, rubbing her back. 

"It's alright, it's alright." She murmured soothingly, pressing her palms into his back. "I'm alright. We're alright." Clary pulled out of his embrace and craned her neck to look him in the face. She loved him so much, she thought her heart would burst. 

"Come inside, come inside." He said, pushing her gently into the living room. She tossed her bag onto the chair and plopped down on the worn out couch, combing her fingers through her hair in a gesture of exhaustion. Simon shut the door gingerly and came over to kneel in front of her. He took both of her hands in his, and Clary raised her eyebrows at him in question. 

"Clary, I really am sorry about the way I acted. I never should have said the things I said, and you were right, I was being selfish and-" Clary cut him off by putting a finger against his lips. 

"Shh. I don't want to hear it anymore. It's behind us, now." His lips broke into a grateful smile and he jumped up onto the couch, tackling Clary in a bear hug. She squealed in surprise, slapping at his back half-heartedly. "What on earth -"  
She had little time to say anything before Simon began tickling her, sending her into fits of giggles. Clary kicked her legs and beat at his back with closed, blunt fists, laughter rolling out of her mouth and filling the room. 

"Stop it! Stop it!" She squealed, squirming underneath him. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, but he didn't budge. 

"C'mon, don't be that way, Clary..." He chuckled into her ear, pinning her to the couch as he continued to tickle her. All of a sudden, Clary was catapulted back. It was as if time stopped abruptly and then slammed into reverse, depositing her roughly on her ass in a dark alleyway with a strange man on top of her, saying the exact same words into her ear. When Clary opened her eyes, she didn't see Simon's brown hair and blue eyes. She saw black hair and green eyes. She didn't hear Simon's friendly, amiable tone, but the gravelly, rough voice of her attacker in her ear. The couch underneath her turned hard as concrete. 

Clary was filled with a blind panic. She kicked and hit with a new resolve, much harder than before. She struggled frantically, her breathing hitched and irregular, a strangled scream escaping her throat. She shoved at Simon's chest and clawed at his shoulders, bucking her hips underneath him to try to throw him off. Sensing her terror, Simon jumped off of her and took several steps back, hands raised in surrender. 

"Clary, what's wrong? What's going on? I was just -" His face was wide open, plainly dumbfounded and scared. 

Clary jumped off of the couch and skittered into a corner of the living room, drawing her knees up to her chest. She felt irrationally as if her scarf were choking her, she couldn't breathe. She tore at it, ripping it violently off and tossing it across the room. Clary's fingers grasped at the roots of her hair, tugging firmly as she pressed her face into her knees, trying to regulate her breathing without success.

Simon approached her slowly with his hands out, as if she were a skittish horse. "Clary...Clary it's just me. It's Simon. It's Simon. It's just me. You're safe. You're safe." He spoke a in soft, soothing voice. 

Clary slowly raised her head from her knees, with the look of a frenzied, frightened animal. Her wide green eyes were wide and alert, darting around the room rapidly. After several moments of this, along with Simon's reassuring "shhh"s, Clary's shoulders visibly relaxed. She blinked hard two or three times, smoothing her hair down with trembling hands. 

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She muttered repeatedly.

"Hey, don't be sorry, okay? Don't be sorry." 

"I just...he said those words to me. He said those words in my ear. 'C'mon, don't be that way Clary...'" She shuddered. "It was like it was happening all over again. I thought you were him. I thought you were him. I thought you were him." She kept whispering this to herself repeatedly, until Simon gently lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. 

"I'm not him. I'm so sorry. I should have known better. I should have known. I'm so sorry. You're safe now. You're safe." 

Clary threw herself into his embrace and he gathered her into his lap, stroking her hair and whispering assurances into it softly. He gently rocked her back and forth, back and forth, her small hands holding onto him for dear life. 

The doorbell sounded, and Clary's entire body seemed to jump 10 feet in the air. Simon quickly rubbed her back, calming her down. 

"Hey, it's okay. Just the doorbell." He picked her up, grunting with the effort of getting up from the floor, and placed her on the couch. She curled into the corner of it, resting her head on the arm. It was then that Simon noticed the two large bruises on her neck and his heart seized up. Clary noticed his gaze and slapped a hand over her neck. 

"Go get the door." She commanded.

"What's on your neck." His voice was more of a demand than a question. 

"Go get the door." She repeated more firmly.

"What. Is. On. Your. Neck."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Simon. Go. Get. The. Door." He glared back, but eventually she won, and he slunk off to get the door. When he opened it, he almost toppled over. The scariest, most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life besides Clary was standing in the frame, wearing a black bralette with elaborate straps, a maroon, high waisted skater skirt, a pair of black thigh highs, and black boot heels. Her hair was long and dark, reaching all the way to her waist, and it was interspersed with long thin braids. She wore several necklaces in various colors and lengths, the most notable a large ruby pendant that seemed too heavy to wear casually. A silver snake with ruby eyes curled up her wrist, and her slim fingers clutched a white paper gift bag.

She cleared her throat, then spoke in her raspy voice. "Does Clary Fairchild live here?" 

Simon's jaw literally dropped open. He nodded and pointing behind him to the sofa where Clary lay. Isabelle raised the bag and gestured toward Clary with it. 

"Do you mind if I come in and give this to her?I'm Isabelle, Jace's sister." 

Simon shook his head mutely. Isabelle stepped across the threshold and, using one crooked finger under his chin, closed Simon's mouth for him with a wink. She proceeded past him into the living room, advancing toward Clary with her arms outstretched. 

Simon finally managed to find his voice. "I wouldn't touch her if I were you. She's not in the best place right now." 

Isabelle fixed Clary with a curious look and Clary fixed Simon with a glare. "Please don't speak for me as if I'm a child. She can hug me if she wants to." Simon shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. 

Isabelle bent at the waist, tucking Clary's hair behind her ears. Simon blatantly ogled her behind, admiring the curve of her hips and the roundness of her backside. Clary shot him another look. 

"Stop staring at her ass." She demanded uncouthly. 

Simon blushed from toes to ears, bright red. Before he could defend himself, Isabelle laughed musically. "He can look if he wants to, I don't mind. Just can't touch." She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, returning her gaze to Clary. 

"Clary, are you okay? I would've come sooner but Jace said you weren't feeling quite well. He told me what happened." Isabelle's voice was regretful, and she swayed the bag back and forth in her hands. 

"I'm fine. I'm okay." Clary mumbled dismissively. Simon shook his head at her with his arms crossed, indicating that he did not agree. 

"Listen Clary, I know we aren't exactly friends yet. But I can't help but feel like this is somehow my fault as well. If I hadn't dressed you that way, if I had driven you home or something, I dunno...I just wish I could've done more to help you." Her gaze flicked down and she looked uncharacteristically sorrowful. "I know this won't make anything better, but I had to do something for you." The tall girl shrugged and handed Clary the bag. 

Clary shook her head, putting her hands up. "No, no. I can't take this from you, really. I don't need it, honestly, you can take it back."

Isabelle, stubborn as a mule, reached out and grabbed Clary's hand. She wrapped Clary's fingers around the handle of the bag, then curled them in so they were gripping it. "Take it, Clary." 

Clary sighed and opened the bag. She dug around and first pulled out her uniform, which she had left in Isabelle's room. 

"Oh, that's not part of it, I just put it in there to give back to you." Isabelle clarified quickly. Clary nodded and continued feeling around inside the bag. 

Next, Clary pulled out a small box of candy. Then, a light blue sundress. Finally, a can of pepper spray, and a tiny pocketknife. She laughed in spite of herself. 

"What's all this?" Clary laid it all out on the floor at her feet. Isabelle smiled beautifully, her teeth a brilliant white. 

"Jace said he was going to keep teaching you self defense like you asked him to. But I wanted you to have a little extra security. Those are basically essentials for us women." Isabelle nudged the knife and the pepper spray. "And the dress...well I saw it and thought it was pretty, but not on me. It would look good on you, though, so I went ahead and got it. I hope it's your size." 

Touched, Clary stood up from the couch and threw her arms around Isabelle, standing on her tiptoes. Isabelle was stiff at first, not generally much of a hugger, but then she hugged Clary back tightly. Before they pulled away, Isabelle put her lips next to Clary's ear. 

"Did my brother give you those hickeys?" She whispered conspiratorially into the small girl's ear. Clary blushed and nodded almost imperceptibly. "You naughty girl." Isabelle teased, flicking Clary's ear teasingly with a finger as she pulled away. Clary placed her hands over her neck again, trying to look casual. Isabelle winked and gave a soft chuckle.

The tall girl began to back toward the door, accidentally bumping into Simon. He blushed pink and looked like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar as Isabelle placed a hand on his chest, whispering "Oh, my bad," in a deliberately seductive tone. Simon swallowed so hard it looked like a cartoon character gulping, mumbling "oh no, you're fine, you're absolutely, totally fine" and Isabelle burst into raucous giggles as Clary felt strange surge of jealousy. Was this how Simon felt when he saw her with Jace? 

Isabelle turned back toward Clary once she reached the door. "If you need me, you know where to find me. I have your back if you need it." Clary didn't know exactly what she meant by that, but she appreciated it. As if to expand on her point, Isabelle unsheathed a small, thin, ornate blade from the inside of her thigh-high. Simon blanched. Then Isabelle flicked her wrist, and the snake bracelet she had been wearing suddenly revealed itself to be not a bracelet at all, but an electrum whip. Even Clary was startled at this. Simon's jaw dropped onto his chest.

"I can show you how to use it sometime. If you want." Isabelle turned the doorknob and opened the front door a crack, winding the whip back around her wrist. "Come see me sometime soon once you're feeling better, I crave intelligent conversation." Both the girls laughed, Clary somewhat nervously, still shocked from the casual display of weaponry. 

"Thank you so much, Isabelle. Really." Clary called out.

"Anytime." Then the door shut behind her and she was out of sight. Simon, however, continued to stare at the closed door, as if willing her to reappear. Clary rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath.

"Oh, you're such a pig." She flicked him on the forehead and, sighing exaggeratedly, trudged past him into the kitchen to get something to eat.

"Are those hickeys on your neck?" He asked incredulously, turning to watch her pilfer through the cabinets.

"This topic of conversation is not currently open for discussion." She stated matter-of-factly, slamming a cabinet door as if to punctuate her command. Simon obeyed, no matter how much it bothered him to imagine Jace biting and kissing his Clary in such an intimate way, and pushed it no further, joining her in her search for junk food.


	19. Chapter 19

"Alright, you remember what I taught you from before?" Jace asked Clary, standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room. Isabelle stood across from her, barefooted on the blue sponge mat that covered the length of the Lightwood's training room. Apparently this family was not only rich and talented in nearly everything, but strangely interested in fighting and its techniques as well. The girl wore her long black hair in an intricate braid down her back, wearing a ruby red tank top and a pair of black spandex shorts. Her long legs were elegant and pale, but if one looked closely, marked with little white scars. 

Clary herself wore a pair of black running capris and a plain blue t-shirt. Her hair was in a low ponytail, and she wondered how Isabelle managed to make literally everything look beautiful. But she shouldn't focus on that right now. Jace was continuing her self defense classes in light of the previous events, and now he had procured Isabelle to help as well. This way, he said, Clary could get more hand-to-hand practice.

Clary nodded. "Fists up, don't drop the left when I swing the right."

He clapped his hands together. "Good. Okay, let's refresh on that a little bit first before we move on. Don't be afraid to hit Isabelle, alright? Because trust me, she won't be afraid to hit you." He chucked softly. "When I give the signal." He motioned at Isabelle and she nodded, positioning her feet. Clary did the same, bringing her fists up the way she remembered. 

Before she could register it, Isabelle darted forward toward Clary. With a squeak, Clary ducked and rushed in, hitting Isabelle lightly in the stomach. Jace collapsed into laughter. 

"I said don't be afraid," he reminded her between chuckles. 

"I can't just command myself not to be afraid!" Clary protested frustratedly. Suddenly, Clary felt a pain in her arm as it was twisted behind her sharply. She winced audibly and spun to see, causing her arm even more pain, to which she cried out. 

"Rule number one: don't ever take your eyes off your attacker." Isabelle's voice said into her ear. Clary felt a foot on her lower back which forced her to her knees. She nodded in acknowledgment and Isabelle released her, walking swiftly back around to where she'd begun. "Shall we try this again?" Her voice was almost bored. 

"No, let's move on. I can work with Clary on this later. We have a lot more to learn." Jace instructed, propelling himself away from the wall by pushing off with his foot. He crossed the room and gently scooted Clary out of the way, taking her place in front of Isabelle. 

"First thing you gotta know, is what to do when someone grabs you by the wrist. That's how he kept you from leaving, isn't it?" Jace asked, kindly trying not to make her recall too many bad memories. Clary nodded, brows furrowed. "Okay, when he grabbed your wrist, what did you do?" Jace turned and grabbed her wrist loosely. Clary immediately tugged her arm back toward her, trying to rip free of his grasp. All this succeeded in doing was making Jace tighten his grip, and allowed him to yank Clary toward him. 

"Most common mistake. If your attacker is bigger and stronger than you, that will never work. What you need to do is this." Jace then swiftly let go of Clary's wrist and grabbed Isabelle's thin one tightly. Instead of ripping away, however, the girl stepped toward Jace, bringing her elbow forward and forearm up. Then she swiftly punched her arm upward, forcing Jace to release his grip. 

"When I bring my arm forward like that, it locks his wrist. He has to let go when I shove my hand upward, or it will break his wrist." Isabelle explained, as the pair both demonstrated again in slow motion so Clary could see. 

"Oh, okay. That makes sense." Clary replied, nodding approvingly. "They should teach this shit in schools." She mused, and Isabelle laughed in agreement. 

"Now you try it." Jace instructed, stepping off the mat. Clary resumed her place in front of Isabelle, and the girl reached out and grabbed Clary's arm with her strong, thin fingers. Her first instinct was still to pull away, and she did so without even thinking about it. Isabelle used this momentum to pull Clary back to her, and soon had her left arm barred across Clary's neck. 

"Aw, fuck." Clary muttered, and Isabelle laughed.

"Let's try it again. I know it's instinct, but don't pull back." Isabelle explained, releasing Clary. Once again she grabbed the smaller girl's wrist. This time, Clary paused for a fraction of a second to remember what to do, then stepped in, brought her elbow forward and pushed upward. Her wrist was now freed and she darted backward out of Isabelle's grasp.

"Perfect!" Jace exclaimed with a loud clap of his hands. "Now the next thing we're going to learn is harder, and it should normally be saved for later. But I feel like you really need it, so we're doing it now." Jace crossed back onto the mat, shaking his golden hair out of his eyes gracefully. When he taught her like this, it was like he was another person entirely. This was something he was very comfortable with, and she could definitely see it. 

"You need to know what to do when someone has you pinned on the ground. The bad thing about this position is - " he motioned to Isabelle, and she laid on her back on the mat. Jace climbed atop her, straddling her torso with his strong thighs. " - that I have all the power."

Isabelle began bucking her hips and pushing against Jace in demonstration, tossing left and right, but Jace was always able to stabilize himself. All Izzy did was exhaust herself. 

"This is what your attacker seeks to do, is first subdue you, and then let you tire yourself out. This position is particularly hard to escape from, considering I can reach her," he paused and mimicked a punch to Isabelle's face, "but she cannot reach me." Isabelle's fist came up to punch him, but was several inches short of his face or any other valuable area to strike at. 

"So, what she needs to do is this." Isabelle reached across and grabbed Jace's left wrist with her right hand as his hands pressed against her throat, as if to choke her. With her left arm, she grabbed behind his left elbow. Then with great show, she hooked her left leg over Jace's, trapping the whole left side of his body. Jace explained this all in a measured, no-nonsense voice that made Clary smile. She loved to watch him do what he was comfortable with. Then swiftly, Izzy raised her curvy hips, upsetting Jace's balance, and rolled to the left. With this momentum, she was able to effectively switch their positions and pin him under her weight. The tall girl jumped up and took off at a jog to the other side of the room, demonstrating the situation. 

"Do you think you could try this one, or is it too soon?" Jace asked, sensitive to Clary's fragile state of mind. 

"I can try it. I want to learn." She replied forcefully, leaving no room for objections. Jace was impressed with her proactiveness. 

"Sorry, girlfriend." Isabelle said playfully from behind as she knocked Clary's legs out of from underneath her and they both hit the ground, Isabelle pressing her weight down on Clary. 

Slowly, trying to recall just how Isabelle had done it, Clary mimicked the motions shown her and succeeded in rolling over on top of the other girl. Isabelle smiled up at her from her position on the floor and praised her for her quick learning skills.

"I did it!" Clary exclaimed with proud surprise, her face glowing. 

"Now, let's try it with me, if you're comfortable with that. That was great, but Isabelle isn't all the much bigger than you." Jace managed to say this without sounding at all like he was undermining Clary's accomplishment. He was good at this whole teaching thing, Clary thought. 

"Okay, but can I just start on the ground? Please don't knock the air out of me like she did." Clary shot Izzy a dirty look, and the girl just shrugged and winked. Clary stuck her tongue out playfully. 

"Yes, you can." Jace replied with a chuckle, climbing on top of her. Despite the situation, Clary's heart still picked up a bit at the closeness of this position. She was acutely aware of the movement of his muscles beneath his black t-shirt, and the warmth of his body against hers. Jace placed his hands loosely around her neck, giving a grimace of apology. Clary then grabbed his wrist and his elbow, trapped his leg, like she was shown to do, and pushed, trying to roll his weight, but it was significantly more difficult than with Isabelle. She had to buck her hips violently several times, grunting and sweating with the effort before she could succeed in gaining the upper hand. 

When she did finally have him straddled, he beamed up at her and she down at him. 

"There you go, that was perfect! You just have to keep working at it." He congratulated in a reverent voice, his smile seeming to melt her heart. She placed her hands on his chest and leaned down, grinning. The walls of the training room seemed to fall away, Isabelle fading away with them. All Clary could see, hear, feel, was Jace. All Jace could think about in that moment was Clary. Before it was possible to even tell who moved first, their lips were on each other's, moving in perfect synchronization. 

Jace's tongue explored the smooth surface of her small pink lips, roamed the inside of her mouth, wrestled with hers. His strong hands spread over her lower back, drawing her down closer, their chests pressed together as they kissed. Clary could feel him becoming aroused and she felt herself getting warmer, her skin becoming flushed and pink with desire. She shoved his soft hair out of his eyes, cradling his stubbly jaw in her small hands as she deepened the kiss, rocking her hips against his. 

A sharp slap to her behind, however, made her let out a high pitched squeal of surprise. She accidentally bit down on Jace's lip, but if it hurt him at all, his low, deep laughing disguised it. Clary turned her head just in time to see Isabelle wink and flutter her fingers at the two of them, leaning against the doorframe. 

"Well, I know when I'm not wanted. And clearly you two have urged to satisfy and needs to meet, so if either of you need me, I'll be in the studio." Her tone was sultry and teasing, and Clary felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. 

Isabelle licked her lips seductively, then collapsed into giggles and strolled out into the hallway, black braid swinging, and Clary and Jace were more than happy to resume where they had left off.


	20. Chapter 20

On Thursday, Clary had to go to class. She had skipped more classes than she probably should have, what with all the chaos going on lately. It just hadn't been a priority, between her work and her father coming back and Jace and her assault, it just seemed to slip through the cracks. The only reason she even remembered at all was because Simon had reminded her while studying the other night. 

Clary knew it was irrational, State U was a big school, but a part of her was halfway terrified of going back to campus since she knew that her attacker went there as well. Simon tried to console her, saying that the chances of him finding her out of all the people on campus were slim. And Clary believed it at first.

But she must have been in close enough contact with this stranger, however unknowingly, very frequently for him to remember her name. 

Clary shuddered. She pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and a floral blouse, slipping her feet into sandals. Her green burlap and leather backpack sat in the corner of the room, untouched for weeks. She crossed the room and snatched it up, slinging it over her shoulder. As she descended the stairs quickly, she was pleasantly surprised to see that Simon had made biscuits and left them stacked decoratively on a plate on the counter. 

Clary made a small noise of excitement as she hurriedly grabbed a biscuit and took a large bite. Her excitement was short lived however as she nearly broke her tooth on the bottom of the biscuit, which was burnt to a jet black crisp. 

"Ow!" She cried, spitting the biscuit into the trash, clutching her mouth. "Christ on the cross, dammit Simon! How many times do I have to tell you, if you burn the food, THROW IT AWAY." She yelled loudly so that Simon should be able to hear it wherever he was in the house. 

As it turned out, he was hiding in the bathroom, for Clary heard his voice reply, like a child arguing with his mother, "But you get mad when I do that!" 

"Yeah, but I get more mad when you break my goddamn tooth with these burnt biscuits, you goob!" Clary closed her eyes and opened the door a crack, not knowing if Simon was presentable or not. She hurled the biscuit into the bathroom and heard a thud as it miraculously struck its target. 

"Hey!" Simon cried, and Clary took off for the front door, giggling, before he could retaliate. 

"I'm leaving for class!" She called over her shoulder. 

"Be careful!" He replied, and she slipped out into the sunshine.

Clary had a horrible time trying to find a parking spot, one of the drawbacks to living in her own apartment off campus. She had to park her truck in the very farthest lot and sprint to the building, backpack thumping against her back, to make it to her World Lit class on time. When she arrived, the fairly large class was already nearly full and she took a seat in the back of the room. 

Considering she hadn't shown up for at least a week, she was afraid she'd be hopelessly lost, but looking up at the board she saw that all they had been doing was reading and analyzing Anna Karenina, which she had already read (and hated). 

She pulled out her notebook and pen in case she needed to take notes and settled into her seat. Today they were discussing the characterization of Anna and recurring themes of the book. On the board was written some identifying factors of Anna, namely wife and mother, which Clary thought laughable. She was hardly either one, she thought wryly to herself. It had been some time since she'd read the beast of a novel, but she remembered most of it. Minutes later, she was startled out of her reverie by her Professor's deep, bored voice. 

"Miss Fairchild, since you've finally decided to grace us with your presence today, could you identify for me a recurring theme within Mr.Tolstoy's novel Anna Karenina?" Professor Larkins steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair smugly, clearing intending to have caught her off guard, to humiliate her. 

Just as smugly, Clary replied, "One of...many, many recurring themes in Tolstoy's novel is the theme of isolation. Namely, Anna's isolation after her affair with Vronsky, as she is consequently spurned by Petersburg society and forced by circumstance to rely on this man she no longer loves- "

"Very good -" Professor Larkins tried to interrupt, but Clary, fueled by indignation and pride, went on eloquently. 

"Vronsky as well is isolated from his peers due to his own internal guilt at assisting in Anna's destruction, saying, if I recall correctly, that he feels as though he is looking at a corpse he has murdered. Levin also is isolated from society by his own antisocial tendencies and general malcontent with the state of his being and its place in the working of the world. He is fixated on his, as it were, existential crisis and by consequence cannot seem to smoothly integrate himself into societal life." 

Clary sat back in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ears. Professor Larkins eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline and the corner of his lips turned down in an expression of surprised admiration. "Very good, Miss Fairchild. Very thorough. I trust you must have read this on your own time?"

Clary nodded. "Yes sir." 

"Well, good for you. You have a very in-depth understanding of the world Tolstoy has created. Good job." He nodded satisfactorily. Clary nodded back, trying not to look too smug or proud. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, silently judging and appraising her. 

For the rest of the class she was mostly silent, trying to not to draw too much attention to herself, her surge of boldness having faded considerably. By the time class was dismissed, it was 10:30, and she quietly slipped out with the mass of students to find, to her surprise, that it was raining. All of the students crowded together under the long stretch of narrow sidewalk that was covered by a metal awning, not wanting to get wet. Clary was pushed and bumped and jostled against people from every side, her small size being a distinct disadvantage at the moment. 

She was bumped harshly from the left, sending her into the side of a considerably fat and smelly man to her right. When she turned to see who it was, she felt someone's breath against her ear and the back of her neck. 

"I hope you don't think I've forgotten you, dearie. I'll see you soon." the voice whispered ominously, and she spun around to locate its owner. People pushed and shoved around her, making noises of annoyance at her dead halt in the middle of the progression. But she didn't notice any of that. All Clary noticed was the head of dark hair, and the flash of a long scar on the side of a pale faced boy who was walking quickly away from her, against the crowd of people. 

Her heart was in her throat. She was filled with the sensation of falling, like when you tip too far back in your chair and know without a doubt that you have messed up, except worse. Much, much worse. It was as if she had tunnel vision and all she could see clearly was his form pushing through the sea of people, everything else on the edges were nothing but blurry colors. 

It was him. She knew it. Filled with fear, she turned on her heels and sprinted in the opposite direction, out into the rain. She didn't have time to fight the crowd, she wanted to get out of here and to her car as quickly as possible. Clary knew she was safer hiding amongst the crowd of students, but there is no room for anything rational when panic sets in. Within minutes, Clary was soaked through, her hair and clothes plastered to her, clinging to her frame. She squished through the mud and the puddles, running blindly until she finally reached her truck in the parking lot. 

She slid in quickly and locked the doors. She knew she was probably being paranoid. It couldn't be him. It probably wasn't. Of course it wasn't. She was overreacting. She should just get out and go back to class. She was being a baby. It was nothing. She had probably imagined the entire thing. 

And yet she couldn't shake the feeling in her very core that it had been all too real. Was he stalking her? 

Clary didn't know what to do. Should she go to the one kind policeman at the station? Should she call Simon? Jace? Her mother? After a few moments of panicked deliberation, she called Isabelle. 

She picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Isabelle. It's Clary."

"Clary? Is everything okay?"

"I...I don't know. Are you home?" 

"No, I'm not, unfortunately. Do you need me to come get you? Are you alright?" 

"No, I'm...fine. For now. It's nothing, don't worry about it. I'll just talk to you later." 

"For now? Clary what's going on? You can't just call me all in a panic and expect me to believe nothing is going on." 

"He found me. I saw him at school. He whispered into my ear."

"Him? Clary what on earth are you talking about?"

"HIM!" Clary repeated emphatically. 

"Oh my god." Isabelle said, suddenly getting it. "Get out of there. Jace is home, go to my house. Go to my house and find Jace and stay there. I'll be home as soon as I can." 

"Isabelle, no, I'm fine." 

"Do it, Clary." She said, and her voice was so urgent that Clary obeyed without question.


	21. Chapter 21

Clary pulled up in the driveway of The Lightwood House, her rusty, old model truck looking dwarfed and out of place in front of the looming home. Her hair was mostly dry by now, but the moisture had made her hair re-curl tighter and wilder than before. She had black smudges under her wide eyes from where her mascara and eyeliner had run with the rain, but she was in no state of mind to care. 

She cut the engine and trudged up the driveway to the large oak door. Thankfully, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Clary raised the brass knob and let it fall, clanking loudly against the door. She waited several moments, listening for movement from inside. When she heard none, she grew impatient, and knocked again. And again. And again. 

Her hand was poised to drop the knocker for the fifth time, when the heavy door abruptly swung wide, revealing a sleepy and disheveled Jace. He wore a pair of low slung, black, drawstring pajama pants with no shirt, and his fair hair stuck up in some places and lay flat in others, like trampled tall grass. 

His golden-brown eyes were puffy with sleep and he gave an exaggerated yawn as he took in the sight of Clary standing soaked on his doorstep like a wet dog. Clary slowly lowered her raised fist and let it drop by her side, looking embarrassed.

"Can't you give a man at least a second to wake up before you show up pounding down his front door? I feel that I've at least earned a warning." He deadpanned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a palm. 

"I'm sorry, I called Isabelle and...and she said you'd be here, I didn't know you were.."

"It's fine, I was kidding, Little Red." He looked her up and down noticeably, taking in her appearance. "Come on, get in here, you look like a child of the goddamn Serengeti." He chuckled, shaking his head, and ruffled her already wild hair with his hand, guiding her inside by a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

He shut the door firmly behind her once she was in the foyer and locked the deadbolt. Clary leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. She didn't know why she was so on edge. Nothing had happened, she was fine, totally fine. She was just so unsettled, to her very core.

Jace rested his forehead against her damp one, circling his arms loosely around her waist. He had realized that whatever Clary was here for was no longer a joking matter, and changed track immediately. 

"What's wrong, Little Red? What's going on?" He whispered softly to her. He felt her take a deep, steadying breath, and rubbed soothing circles on her lower back through her still-damp blouse. 

"I know I'm probably overreacting. It's nothing. I didn't know what to do so I called Isabelle and she said it was a big deal and that I should come here but now that I'm here I change my mind and I think I should go back and -" She was rambling now, saying everything that came into her mind.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. Isabelle said what was a big deal?" He took a hand off her back and used a crooked finger to tilt her chin up to him, looking him in the eyes. 

She inhaled again and let out her words on the tails of her breathy exhalation. 

"He-found-me-at-school-and-he-whispered-in-my-ear-and-Isabelle-said-to-find-you-and-tell-you." Her words all bunched together, she said them so fast, like she couldn't wait to get the taste of them out of her mouth and into the air. 

"What? Who? Who found -" Jace stiffened as he realized, every muscle in his body going rigid like a dog that is on alert. "What did he say to you?" Jace asked urgently, gripping her by the shoulders. 

"He said, 'I hope you don't think I forgot you. I'll see you soon.'" Clary shuddered. 

"And you're sure it was him?"

"Of course I'm sure it was him! ...At least I think. I mean, I saw him. It was him." 

"We need to go to the dean or something, let him know what's going on -"

"And tell him what? That an unnamed student among thousands whispered in my ear? We have no proof, we have no evidence! They can't do anything." 

An expression of pain and anger flickered across Jace's features, and he reached out, gathering Clary in his arms, clutching her against his strong bare chest. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." He murmured into her hair.

"Stop. Don't do this again. Don't blame yourself." She mumbled against his skin. 

"But it's my fault -"

"Stop! I said stop, okay? Just stop."

His chest rose and fell as he took a long breath through the nose to calm himself. "Okay. Okay. I'll stop."

She wrapped her arms around his torso and linked her hands behind his back, her cheek resting on his warm chest. "Thank you."

"C'mon, you're freezing, I can feel you shivering. Let's get you into something dry."   
Jace gently disentangled himself from Clary and pushed her toward the stairs with a hand on her back. 

"I don't want to wear Isabelle's clothes again." Clary shook her head forcefully and Jace laughed, imagining Clary in something like fishnet tights or strange leather corsets. 

"You don't have to, I think I have something you can put on. I mean, it'll be a little big, but." 

"A little." Clary taunted she reached the top of the stairs. 

"Just a tiny bit." Jace winked and pushed open the door to his room, still as immaculate as always. This was only the second time Clary had been in here and it felt so personal, she didn't know how to act. 

She perched gently on the edge of the bed as Jace rifled through his armoire. Clary noticed that he never paused to put a shirt on although he was holding plenty in his hands and she blushes slightly, still unused to this...whatever it was that they had together. They weren't exactly dating, and they weren't together, but they were definitely more than friends, she felt like. She wanted to ask him again, but the last time that had turned out disastrously, so she held her tongue. 

Finally, Jace returned to her with a pair of navy fleece pajama pants with polar bears on them, and a large t-shirt he must have gotten from a Motley Crüe concert.

"Here, see if those fit. I think they're both too small for me anyway." He turned and pointed to a door set in the leftmost wall. "The bathroom's right in there."

Clary nodded and smiled nervously, then padded across the carpet into the luxurious bathroom. The shower was the fancy kind with the sliding glass doors. The mirror stretched the length of the far wall, surrounded by large Hollywood-esque lights, and the vanity boasted three sinks. The toilet was off in a tiny closet type room with a door that could be shut and locked, presumably to allow two people to be in at the same time, one to shower and one to use the bathroom. 

Clary slowly peeled off her sticky wet clothes and folded them neatly, specifically tucking her panties into her jeans so Jace wouldn't see them. It was silly, she knew. She gratefully tugged on the dry garments which smelled like Jace, woodsmoke and soap. They completely swallowed her, the shirt nearly reaching her knees, and she had to roll the waistband of the pants three times to get them to stay up without her holding them. 

Glancing up at her reflection in the mirror, she flinched. She really did look crazy. Hastily she turned on the water and tried to scrub away the makeup under her eyes. Most of it came off and she looked considerably more presentable after she pulled her wild hair into a high bun. Scooping up her meticulously folded clothes, she slid shyly back into Jace's bedroom. 

Jace was laying on the bed, feet dangling over the edge, his shoes placed carefully centered at the foot of the frame. His arms were behind his head and he looked like a Calvin Klein model to Clary, whereas she looked like a 12 year old wearing her dad's clothes, and she suddenly felt insanely insecure. 

Jace looked up and saw her, and his face split into a grin. "Just a tiny bit big." He said jokingly and she smiled back shyly, gesturing to the clothes in her hand. 

"Um...what should I do with these?"

"Here, I'll wash them for you in a minute." Jace said, sliding off the bed and taking the bundle of damp clothes from her. He placed them on his bedside table, then hopped back on the bed, patting the space next to him. 

Clary blanched. She couldn't get in the bed with him! They were definitely not there yet. 

As if reading her thoughts, Jace sighed and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, not like that. Just get up here." 

Clary timidly hoisted herself up and onto the tall bed with its soft white down comforter, leaning back against the headboard and drawing her knees up to her chest. 

"Everything you're thinking shows on your face." Jace informed her with a smirk and the quirk of an eyebrow as he tugged on a stray curl that had not made it into the bun. 

"Great. Another thing I need to worry about." Clary laughed and looked down at her lap, and Jace chuckled along with her. 

Then he was suddenly serious. He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over and sliding it into his. At first Clary didn't respond, but he gave a little squeeze and she eventually laced her fingers with his. "You don't have to worry about anything, Clary. As long as you're with me, I'll never let anything hurt you again. Not your dad, not that guy, no one. I mean it." His voice was low and urgent, making Clary's heart flutter. She didn't know how to respond, and she cleared her throat nervously. 

"You're sweet." She managed to mumble, picking at a stray thread on the blanket. 

"Not sweet. Just honest. And I tend to have a thing for dramatic, noble gestures." He winked, then nudged her with an elbow. "I'm just kidding."

She smiled and Jace's heart seemed to squeeze. She was so effortlessly beautiful, it was heartbreaking. 

"You don't have to protect me." She said. 

"I know. But I want to." He replied, giving her hand another squeeze. 

A pause. Then, "but why?"

"I told you, I have a thing for redheads." Jace clicked his tongue and bumped her playfully and they both dissolved into giggles. 

"I'm being serious." She said after she had recovered. 

"So am I," Jace quirked an eyebrow, which made Clary smile her beautiful smile again. 

"You play too much," she tittered. 

"One can never play too much." He replied, lying down and settling back against the fluffy pillows, still grasping Clary's hand. 

"You're so mysterious." Clary said, staring at the way his tanned, golden skin rippled with his movements as he stretched out on the bed. 

"Mysterious am I? How so?"

"I don't know anything about you."

"Not true." He held up a finger to illustrate his point. "You know my name and my address, two most certainly very important aspects of a person." 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." 

A clap of thunder from outside just then nearly scared Clary to death, and she jumped sharply in surprise. It must have begun storming again once she got inside. 

Jace laughed and draped an arm around her shoulders, jostling her playfully. "Hey, it's okay. Just thunder, Little Red, I'm here." 

"I wasn't scared, it just surprised me."

"Uh-huh, yeah okay." He winked. 

"Oh, don't change the subject, you ass."

"Hey now, let's not get feisty."

Clary rolled her eyes again but couldn't help but grin.

"Okay, okay. I relent. You have whittled me down, woman." Jace rubbed his eyes with his hands and continued speaking. "My full name is Jonathan Christopher Herondale Lightwood. I am 20 years old and I don't go to college because I'm a privileged rich kid who embraces the mysterious bad-boy stereotype and, of course, bad-boys don't do learning. I have a cat named Church who has for some reason seemingly vanished into thin air. He thinks he can talk to humans. When I was thirteen I stuck my tongue to a frozen light pole to see if it worked like in the movies. It did. I moved here to Arkansas when I was 6 and was adopted by the Lightwoods." 

Clary laughed at the light pole incident and fell back on the bed, curling up in her side with her hands under her head. "Be serious!" She giggled.

"I am! All of those things are 100% true." Jace replied smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. Just then, Clary yawned loudly, at the same time that another clap of thunder rolled through. 

"Need a nap?" He asked, nudging her toes with his foot playfully. 

"Nah, I'm good." She shook her head, then immediately yawned again. "Christ, why can't I quit yawning?"

"Stop saying that word, you're making me yawn!" Jace cried as he covered his mouth, yawning wide. 

"Yawn, yawn, yawny yawn yawn!" She crooned, snickering, and he made a move as if to shove her off the bed. She squealed and grabbed a pillow, hitting him with it in the stomach. 

"Uh-uh, oh no, no ma'am." He said, snatching the pillow from her. "Not in this house." He laughed and tackled her back onto the bed, both of them hitting and pushing the other playfully as they rolled around, a tangle of limbs and laughter. 

When the giddiness eventually subsided, they both lay side by side, Clary breathing slightly heavier from exertion. She turned her head to Jace's, just inches away, and they locked gazes. 

"Tell me a story about you. It can be anything." She said, admiring his beautiful, kind face. So close, she could see the light dusting of freckles on his tan skin and the cracks in his slightly chapped lips. 

"Oh, cmon, not boring old cliche me." He smiled with the left side of his mouth. 

"Yes, you. I like hearing about you." She poked him in the chest. 

"Oh, alright, alright." He said, relenting. Jace sighed and folded his hands over his chest, looking up at the ceiling as he searched for a suitable story to tell. 

Finally, he had one. 

He cleared his throat dramatically, "ahem, ahem, ah-ahem!" and began, still looking at the ceiling. 

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He lived in Florida with his mom, Celine, his dad Stephen, and his dog Reggie..."

Celine and Stephen Herondale, Clary thought drowsily, so that's who Jace's parents are...

"Reggie was the best dog any kid could ever have. He was this big ole' white and black Great Dane, and he thought he was about the size of a chihuahua, he was always trying to sleep on the little boy's lap, and on the chair, but of course he couldn't fit." Jace smiled to himself, reminiscing, and seeing him happy made Clary happy. 

"He wa a good dog. Anyway, sorry, he's not the point of this story." Jace laughed throatily. "Back to the little boy. One day the little boy got home from school, and his dad had tried to make his mom dinner, as a surprise before she got home from work. It was supposed to be lasagna..."

The words drifted in and out of Clary's head as she struggled to keep her eyes open, drawn down into sleep by the comforting softness of Jace's bed and the lull of his strong, deep voice. Eventually, however much she tried to fight it, sleep won out, and Clary's eyelids fluttered closed. 

Jace, so absorbed in his own story, didn't realize it until several minutes later, when he glanced over at her. She was curled up on top of the covers, knees to chest. The purple and blue veins stood out delicately on her pale eyelids, and thin, pretty hands were tucked gently under her heart-shaped face. Overcome with affection for this kind, sweet, trusting girl that lay beside him, Jace reached out and stroked her face, taking in every detail of her sleeping form. Her eyelashes fluttered in sleep and she made a small noise in response to the disturbance of his touch, but he didn't draw his hand back. She looked so radiant, so peaceful, like an angel. Jace's heart squeezed and all he wanted to do was kiss her, but he didn't dare wake her up. 

He leaned forward and pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to her forehead, then gently tugged the covers out from underneath her and draped them over her wispy form. Then Jace reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, crossed the room and flicked off the overhead light, then crawled back into bed, on top of the covers and opened a book, until eventually he, too, fell into a midday sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

Clary woke before Jace did. At first, groggy and disoriented, Clary did not know where she was, and was momentarily frightened. After a few moments though she recognized the quilts she slept under, the large four poster bed, and most of all...the sleeping form of the man beside her. 

Clary blinked hard several times, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a fist. She groped around under the covers for her phone, having lost it somewhere in the bed. She tossed up the comforter and it billowed up as it descended, forming a sort of tunnel that Clary stuck her head in, looking for her phone. She spotted it at the foot of the bed, tangled in the white sheets she had kicked into a bunch at the bottom. 

She scooped it up and settled back against the headboard of the bed, clicking the home button to reveal the time. 12:51. She had slept longer than she'd meant to. Well, actually, she hadn't meant to sleep at all. 

With a huff, Clary set her phone on the table beside the bed and rolled over onto her side, facing Jace. She noticed that he was not covered up, and his skin was covered in tiny raised goosebumps from the chill of the air conditioner. It dawned on her that this was, in all probability, because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable by sleeping under the blanket with her, and she felt a surge of affection at this kind gesture. 

Clary tugged the corner of the quilt out from under his heavy, sleeping form and draped it over him, as he had done for her earlier, although she had no way of knowing it. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Clary wanted to admire Jace the way he was now - open, vulnerable, peaceful. No barriers, or wit, or sarcasm, or mysterious facade to try to block her curious gaze. This was Jace as he was, truly. She scooted close and felt the heat radiating off his body, trapped between them under the comforter.

Jace rolled over, then, in sleep, so that his back was facing Clary. She reached out and gently outlined the framework of strong, sinewy muscle under the skin, not bulky, but perfectly graceful and lithe. A book was peeking out from underneath Jace. He must've been reading, and rolled over on it, Clary thought. Not wanting him to be uncomfortable, she tugged it out from under him and was surprised to see it was Wuthering Heights. He must have gotten another copy, because she had taken his other one in indignation and stormed out of the house with it. Sadly, Clary realized that she must have lost it when she was attacked. She hadn't even thought about it until now. 

A page in the book was dog-eared, and Clary smiled to herself. She did the same thing to her books, even though she shouldn't. She always thought you could tell a lot about a person by the way they treated their books. 

Curious, she flipped open the novel to the dog-eared page, about halfway through the book. In blue ink, some lines were underlined, and notes were scribbled in the margin in a tiny, cramped, cursive hand. Peering closer, Clary recognized the passage immediately. 

"'If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and—'"

 

Out beside it, Jace had written a note: Clary said this on the night. It is beautiful like she said. Memorize for her. 

Touched, Clary gently closed the book and clutched it to her chest, her eyes filling with tears that she willed to go away. She shouldn't be such a baby about it, but the thought of him re-reading a book he so openly despised just for her, just to see the beauty that she saw, moved her. She smiled broadly down at the beautiful, sweet boy beside her. He tried to act rough and calloused and mean, but she was finally glimpsing his heart, and it was anything but. He had a kind soul, and a heart for romance. He was an innocent at his core, and he strove to do good above all else. Jace was more than she had ever imagined, and she was immensely grateful for his persistence, for the way he pursued her. If he hadn't, would she be here now? 

Gently placing the book on the bed beside her, Clary, feeling bold, and somewhat overcome with emotion, settled down on the bed beside Jace and pressed herself up against his back, curling to fit his body. She draped an arm over his bare torso, and she felt him shift in sleep, covering her arm with his own. She laid her cheek against his warm, solid back, and listened to his heartbeat, matching her breathing to the rhythm of his. Her whole body was tingling, singing with adrenaline at being this close to a boy who wasn't Simon. This was all new to her, and she felt dizzy in the head, like her pulse was going to beat so hard that she would just faint or pass out. 

She manually forced herself to slow her breathing, regulating her pulse again. Clary closed her eyes and focused on the feel of Jace's lean body against hers. After a few moments, he began to stir.

Jace's eyes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing he registered was the feel of Clary curled against his back. He couldn't see anything but her pale hand on his stomach, but he could feel her behind him and his heart leaped with joy. His face cracked into a sleepy grin as he rolled over to face her, and the look she gave him - apprehension mixed with shy embarrassment - made him want her even more. 

She tried to pull back and shy away, but Jace reached out and caught her around the waist, pulling her close to him. Wrapping his arms around her thin frame, he pressed her to his chest and leaned down to whisper huskily in her ear. 

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, and his breath tickled her ear, making her shiver. 

"Yes," she squeaked out shyly. "Did you?"

"Perfectly." He crooned, dipping his head lower to press his lips to the underside of her jaw. She shivered again, and he grinned broadly, pulling away from her to look into her piercing green eyes. 

She met his gaze briefly before looking away bashfully, biting her lip.

"Could you, ya know, not bite your lip like that? It's driving me crazy, all I want to do is kiss you." He teased, running his pointer finger over her soft pink lips. He watched her blush and it made his heart swell. The affection he had for this girl was nearly unbearable. 

"Well, why don't you?" She replied, smiling coyly. 

"Why don't I what?" He challenged, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Why don't you kiss me?" She whispered, and Jace could control himself no longer. Clary caught a flash of his bright, joyous smile seconds before the two of them melded together. 

Jace's lips conquered hers, filling her head with nothing but the pleasure and the warmth of his sweet lips. His hand slipped behind her neck, pulling her in and keeping her there as his mouth opened hers and his tongue slipped in. He ran his tongue over her small white teeth, then traced the outline of her lips. She took the opportunity to reciprocate, and soon it was she who had the dominant position, her tongue roaming the surface of his mouth, gently and smoothly darting around, driving him crazy with desire. 

In one swift motion, Jace rolled over and onto her, positioning himself within her thin, porcelain legs, never breaking contact with her lips. With both of his hands, he cradled her face gently, pulling back to gaze down at her admiringly. She gazed back with wide, round eyes, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink with desire. Her small lips were already slightly swollen from kissing and Jace smiled from ear to ear, shaking his head as he stared down at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. 

"Why'd you stop?" Her soft, musical voice asked. 

"I wanted to look at you." He traced the curve of her shoulder with his hand. "You're so incredibly beautiful." 

Clary brought her hands to her face and covered it, shaking her head and giggling. "Oh my god, no I'm not!" 

"I mean it, Clary, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." Jace professed urgently. 

She continued shaking her head, and Jace tried to pry her hands away from her face, but she resisted. 

"No!" She cried between fits laughter, "I'm blushing so bad and I don't want you to see itttttt!" 

"C'mon, I think it's cute, let me see..." 

They struggled for a moment, but eventually Clary gave up and threw her hands out beside her on the bed. It was true, she was blushing. Her face was bright red, making her eyes stand out even more. 

"Stunning." Jace whispered as he grasped the collar of her, or rather his, t-shirt, and pulled it down to expose her collarbone. He nipped and bit at it, causing her to arch slightly up to him. Clary's hands roamed Jace's bare back and stomach, feeling the hard planes of his muscle under her skin. Eager for more, she wrapped her hands behind his neck and hooked her ankles together around his legs, effectively entangling their two bodies. 

Jace progressed further and further down, his hands shoving up the bottom of Clary's t-shirt to place kisses along the low waistband of her pants. Her pulse fluttered in her neck like a trapped butterfly and she let out a sigh as Jace's tongue traced patterns on the surface of her pale belly. She ran her hands through his golden curls as he nipped and kissed her sides and ribs, making her squeal and squirm with pleasure. He smiled against her skin, loving the sound of her laughter. 

His hands continued up and up, and he raised his eyes, giving Clary a look that signaled a plea for permission. She gave a quick nod, her heart in her throat. Up until now, this was stuff they had done before. This, here and now, was uncharted territory, and it filled her with thrill and adrenaline. 

Jace's hands cupped her bare breasts under her shirt, and she noticed he was a bit shocked to find she wasn't wearing a bra, but he didn't say anything about it. His eyes lit up as he watching Clary's face. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her mouth opened to form a small, round "O" and he caressed her breasts, rolling her raised nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped and sighed, then, arching up to him. Jace grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted it up, over her head, tossing it to the side. 

Self conscious, Clary pressed her arm over her breasts to cover them, but it did nothing but arouse Jace more as the pressure of her arm forced the swell of them up, pushing them together and creating even more cleavage. 

He gently grabbed Clary's arms in his hand and pinned her wrists together above her head, holding them there with his left hand. With his right, he traced light patterns on her bare skin, watching her shiver under his touch. With a smirk, he leaned down and pressed a long, firm kiss to each breast individually, enjoying the gasp of pleasure she made. Clary arched her hips up again, her bare stomach pressing against Jace's, and he sighed, closing his eyes. He released Clary's wrists, and in a smooth motion, using the self defense technique he had taught her, she flipped over on top of him, straddling his hips. 

She trailed her fingers down his bare chest and watched his eyes flutter closed, smiling to herself in satisfaction. She felt his growing bulge between her legs and it made her nervous. She felt her whole body get hot, blushing red. Suddenly, Jace gripped her hips tightly with his large, rough hands and rocked her forward and back. Clary leaned down to kiss his lips, and at the moment, her phone rang. And rang. And rang. Insistently.

Jace chuckled and rubbed a hand over his face. "You might wanna get that." 

"Ugh," Clary protested, then climbed off of Jace and snatched up her phone.

Unknown calling...

"Huh, that's weird..." She murmured, her brows furrowing together, creating a little starburst crinkle of confusion on her forehead. 

"What?" Jace asked, sitting up. 

"It's an unknown number."

"Answer it. Put it on speaker phone."

Clary slid her finger across the screen to answer it and pressed speaker. 

"Hello?" She ventured. 

The voice that answered chilled her to the bone. 

"I didn't appreciate you running away from me today, Clary." 

The voice was distorted, cracked and gravelly through the phone. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight up. 

"W-who is this?"

"Don't play with me, Clary." It warned, and then the line beeped as he hung up. 

Frightened, Clary tossed the phone out of her grip and onto the floor as if it had burned her hand. 

"C'mere, Clary, c'mere. It's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I'm here. You're safe." Jace reached out and grabbed Clary's shaking form and pulled her against his chest, handing her her shirt. She quickly shoved it over her head, trembling uncontrollably. 

"It's him. It's him. How did he get my number? How did he know? Oh, God, it's him. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Her voice was shrill and panicked, her heart beating out of her chest. She felt the most pure sense of terror in her bones and it made her skin absolutely crawl. She had the overwhelming urge to shower in scalding water and scratch herself raw. She couldn't get the voice out of her head. 

"Don't worry, Clary. I'm going to protect you. And I'm going to find this bastard." Jace promised, his voice full of a rage about to uncoil as he stroked her hair soothingly.

At that moment, Jace's bedroom door flew open to silhouette Isabelle in the doorframe. She quickly surveyed the scene before her, taking in Clary's shuddering, shaking form, near to tears of anger and humiliation and fear, and Jace's strong arms circled around her protectively. A bad feeling settled in her gut like a stone and she gulped, swallowing hard. 

"Oh my God. What happened?" She blurted, and the looks she received from the two of them, one of rage and one of despair, did not promise a good answer.


	23. Chapter 23

Clary, Isabelle, Jace, and Alec were all in the kitchen, Clary and Izzy sitting around the counter, Jace lounging against the fridge, and Alec making sandwiches for everyone. His face was twisted into a scowl, and Clary felt kinda bad for the little guy. He had been in here simply making a sandwich for himself, and then Jace had showed up and employed him to make them all one.

Jace and Clary had filled Isabelle in on what had happened, and she looked just as angry as Jace had. Clary was still considerably shaken up. She couldn't quit hearing his voice in her head. Every time her phone buzzed with a text from Simon, she jumped, thinking it could be him at any moment. She felt watched, she felt paranoid, she felt violated. 

"Here," Alec said gruffly, slamming Clary's plate down in front of her, then Izzy, then Jace, with a clank. He obviously didn't like her very much, but she wasn't sure why. She hoped she hadn't accidentally offended him in some way and just didn't know it.

"Thank you so much, Alec," Clary relied as sweetly as she could, hoping to gain some regard from the man. She didn't. 

"Welcome," he mumbled, then snatched his plate and ambled out of the room with a dirty look over his shoulder. 

"I feel so helpless," Isabelle garbled out around a mouthful of BLT. "Without this guy's name, we can't do anything to stop him. And the police are definitely not going to help." 

Clary shrugged and nodded, ducking her head to her plate to take a bite, then covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed. She was a quiet eater. 

"Fuck the police," Jace said angrily, and Isabelle laughed. 

"Fuck the police coming straight from the underground, a young nigga got it bad cause I'm brown," she rapped, a spot of mayonnaise clinging to the side of her mouth. 

"Shut up," Jace mumbled, trying not to laugh at her poor rapping skills, at the same time that Clary piped up "Hey, that's not funny, it's true. Police brutality against people of color is wildly unchecked." 

"I wasn't laughing at it, I was just singing a song," Isabelle protested.

"Well, still, I'm just saying."

"And I'M just saying, that we need to do something about this prick who thinks he can harass Clary." Jace slammed his palm on the countertop. "I hate to even let her out of my sight because I'm scared I'll never hear from her again, that he'll finally get to her." 

"Jace, I'll be fine," Clary whispered half heartedly, seeing that he was getting worked up. 

"No, you won't!" He shouted, swiveling on his stool. "You say that, but you can't even go to school without the threat of him looming over your head!" 

"This is so fucked up. I just want to find him and...and...and just..." Isabelle clenched her fists, struggling to find the words to express herself. Her pale face had the most delicate dusting of red from anger. 

"Hey, guys. Stop. Both of you." Clary chastised, giving them each a motherly look. "Getting angry and bloodthirsty isn't going to solve anything. We just need to...to scope things out. Go about this whole ordeal logically." She was surprised at how level headed she sounded, when on the inside she was absolutely panicking. 

The two of them nodded, Jace with his lips pressed into a thin, angry line, and Isabelle with a hardened look in her narrowed eyes. 

Clary felt Jace's hand nudge hers under the counter. She turned it palm up, and he slipped her hand in his, fingers laced together. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand soothingly. It both calmed Clary and made her pulse race at the same time.

Isabelle grabbed the grey remote on the end of the counter and switched on the small TV in the corner of the kitchen. Clary didn't know why anyone would need a TV in the kitchen but she figured that when you're rich you can afford silly luxuries like that. The three of them are in silence that way for a few minutes, just watching TV together, until Isabelle, cramming the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, announced,

"Ya know whut? We should juss, totally like, go dwinking tonight." She swallowed hard and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "It'll get your mind off this whole big thing."

"But, I'm not 21. And neither are you." Clary replied with confusion, shaking her head at Isabelle.

Isabelle giggled and rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. It's called 'I have a fake ID and I also fucked the owner of Kings so I can totally get us in.'" 

"Isabelle." Jace snapped sternly, cutting her a dirty look. 

"What?" She asked with an innocent look, shrugging exaggeratedly.

Jace just shook his head angrily and returned to his food. Isabelle brushed it off with a dismissive flick of her wrist and returned her attention to Clary. 

"C'mon, it'll be so much fun." She prodded Clary on the shoulder, smiling largely.

"Um, I don't- I don't drink." Clary replied, wringing her hands. In truth, she really did not want to go out tonight. The thought of her stalker being out there somewhere, having her number...he could find her. 

"Well then, more for me! You can just be the designated driver." 

"I dunno, Isabelle, I don't think this is a very good idea."

"C'mon, don't be such a downer, let's do it! Pleeeeeaaase!" She stuck her lip out in a pouty, puppy dog face. 

"Isabelle!" Jace suddenly yelled, making both of the girls jump sharply, their eyes widening in surprise. "She said she doesn't want to go, now leave it be!" He demanded, glaring at her. 

"I'm just trying to let her have a little fun!" Isabelle cried, her face pulled into a scowl at being reprimanded by her own brother. 

"She doesn't need fun! Fun is the last thing she needs when there's a goddamned psychopath out there somewhere hellbent on getting to her!" His voice was loud and booming, his nostrils flared and his face red with anger. 

"You're taking this too seriously! I'll be with her the whole time, it'll be fine."

"Jace, it's not a big deal -" Clary began to protest softly, but Jace was having none of it. 

"Taking this too seriously?!" Jace jumped up from his seat, bracing his hands on the counter. Isabelle flinched at the intensity of his voice. "This is life or death for her, Isabelle!"

Isabelle just scowled back, her dark, perfectly shaped eyebrows pulled together and her pouty lips downturned. 

"It's okay, it's okay." Clary gently placed her hands on Jace's shoulders. "Hey, look at me. Look at me." She placed a hand in Jace's stubbly cheek and turned his face to her. "It's okay. I'll be fine." 

Jace's chest heaved with the intensity of his outburst, but he face softened considerably at Clary's touch. "I promised you I wouldn't let you get hurt."

"I won't. Isabelle will be with me the whole time." Clary suggested gently. 

"Yeah, drunk off her ass." He snorted harshly and rolled his eyes. 

"A drunk Isabelle is still probably better protection than a sober me, and you know it just fine." Clary smirked and softly squeezed Jace's biceps. He ran a hand frustratedly through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. 

"Fine. But if you want to leave, or if something doesn't feel right, you call me right away. I mean it." He gave Clary a stern look and she nodded. 

"Okay. Be careful." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, making her blush. 

"I'm not leaving yet." She replied, puzzled. 

"I know, but by the look on Isabelle's face, she's about to drag you up to her prison and make you into her own personal redheaded dress up doll. I doubt I'll see you for a while." He ruffled her hair affectionately, arching a brow at his sister. 

"You are correct, brother dearest." Isabelle grabbed Clary's hand and began pulling her along, towards her bedroom. Her tone still held an undercurrent of hostility towards Jace, and the two exchanged a long glance as they passed. Clary turned over her shoulder as Izzy dragged her along and waved at Jace, and he waved back, flashing her a bright, tender smile. 

When they both arrived at Isabelle's door, Clary shook her head adamantly. "I really don't want to borrow your clothes again."

"Too bad, because you definitely can't go in my brothers pajamas and old Motley Crüe t-shirt from when he was, like, 13." She scrunched her nose up in distaste as she fingered the shirt's material. "Now, come on. I've always wanted a sister to dress up."

Isabelle dragged Clary inside by the wrist as Clary moaned "I don't wanna be dressed uppppp" and plopped her on down on the cushioned stool in front of the vanity mirror where Isabelle applied her makeup. 

"Sit right here while I find you something to wear." Isabelle commanded. The tall, wispy girl turned and padded over to the closet, stopping to press a button on her iHome, and a strange, upbeat, yet haunting tune filled the room. It made Clary want to dance and cry at the same time, which made her uncomfortable. 

"My music taste is unconventional. Deal with it." Isabelle said as she rifled through her closet. 

"No, I like it." Clary replied, leaning her head on her elbow. 

Eventually, Isabelle returned with a bundle of fabric draped over her arm. "Here, try this. It's too small for me."

Clary slipped on the garments, then turned to glimpse her reflection in the full length mirror in the corner of the room. She wore a short, tight, A-line dress that gave off a very vintage vibe. It had cap sleeves and the middle of the dress was cut out and covered with transparent black mesh, showing her midriff. Isabelle tossed her a pair of tights and Clary painstakingly pulled them on, clumsily jumping around as she tried to maintain balance. Once they were on, she saw that they were thin and see-through black nylon tights patterned with black roses. 

"What size shoe are you?" 

"A 7, sometimes an 8." 

"Perfect. Here, try these." Isabelle tossed Clary a pair of what looked to be very heavy shoes. Short, black leather boots with a high, skinny heel on the back, and draped with gold decorative chains. 

"I can't wear these, are you crazy?!" Clary exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the monstrous boots. 

"Of course you can, you'll be hot! I know the rule is that redheads aren't supposed to wear red, but it looks great on you and so will these."

Clary hesitantly slipped them on, wobbling like a newborn baby calf on ice. "I'm going to end up breaking my damn ankles!" 

"Nah, it gets easier. Just takes practice." Isabelle steered Clary's stumbling figure back over to the vanity mirror. 

"Now sit. I'm going to do your hair and makeup."

"Isabelle, honestly, it's fine..."

"Shhh. I'm doing it. You can't stop me." Clary laughed despite herself as Isabelle grabbed a brush. "You tender-headed?"

"I have curly hair, Isabelle. Of course not." Clary deadpanned.

"Just checking." Isabelle murmured as she raked the brush across Clary's scalp. Clary say very still as Isabelle tugged and pulled and pushed and pinned her hair. It seemed to take ages, and then Isabelle moved along to the makeup. Clary groaned. 

"Ugh, can I please be done now?" She whined, eyeing the numerous amounts small pots and tubes and books of makeup on Isabelle's desk. 

"You know the answer to that question, so why ask it?" Isabelle reached behind her and picked up a brush and a palette of eyeshadow. "Now close your eyes." Clary huffed, but obeyed. Her back began to ache after sitting so still for so long, and she feared Isabelle would never get done. She also feared what she would look like when she opened her eyes. 

"Voila, all done. Open your eyes now." Isabelle's voice was eager as she spun Clary around. Her face beamed and she smiled proudly from ear to ear. Clary opened her eyes and nearly fell out of her seat at the image looking back at her. It didn't even look like the same person. 

Isabelle had pinned her hair into an elaborate, messy and braided updo on top of her head, wisps of red hair falling gracefully out to frame her thin face. Her eyes were heavily made up with smudged black shadow and winged liner, her lips a bright red. "Oh my god." Clary exclaimed, her reddened lips falling open in shock. 

"I know, right? I'm amazing." Isabelle boasted, still smiling at her work. 

"This is crazy." Clary turned her head side to side, admiring her new reflection. "I don't even recognize myself."

"You. Look. Sexy. Damn sexy." Isabelle agreed, bending down to look into the mirror with Clary, hands on her shoulders. "Okay, now my turn."

Clary moved over to the bed, where she lounged and pilfered through Isabelle's various fashion magazines stacked by the bed as she got ready. It didn't take nearly as long as it did to get Clary ready, for Isabelle already had her makeup on. When she was done, she spread her arms in front of Clary, then struck a pose. "Whad'ya think?" Isabelle inquired, turning a quick circle. 

Isabelle wore a strappy leather bustier, dangling with charms and jewels, her ample bosom swelling largely over the top. Her skirt was high waisted and short, a beautiful lavender color. She wore her signature ruby pendant and a pair of leather boot heels with an open toe that laced up her calves with a black ribbon, her whip glinting on her wrist. She looked like a vision, a seductress. She was absolutely gorgeous. 

"You look...wow. You look like a model. Like you could kill a man and not feel bad about it." The two girls dissolved into giggles and Isabelle squeezed in her 'thank you's' between laughter. 

"Alright you ready to go?" She asked, and Clary nodded. Isabelle grabbed her keys and Clary's hand, helping her out of the room and down the stairs. 

Jace was in the living room with his feet propped up, reading a book. When he saw the two of them, he did a double take. "Clary?" He said in astonishment, his mouth falling open. 

She nodded shyly. 

"You look...you...I..." He stammered over his words. "I don't want you going out like that."

Clary's expression quickly darkened. "You aren't in charge of me. I can wear what I want."

"But - I...I just..."

"You just what?"

"I don't want you going out looking like a slut like my sister." He said darkly, and the insult made Clary take a step back. 

"Like a slut? A slut?! Is that what you just called me?" Clary's eyebrows shot into her hairline, and she pressed a hand to her chest in astonishment. 

"No, that's not what I meant -"

"You just called your own sister a slut, and me as well! What gives you the right?!" Clary challenged, her jaw clenching in anger.

"Because But I didn't mean it about you, I just meant..."

"A slut?!" Isabelle screeched, advancing quick to toward her brother. "How dare you, you -"

"You fuck anything that breathes, Isabelle, and then you go around a brag about it like their accolades of some twisted sort! You're a whore, and I'm not sorry for saying it!" He jumped up from the couch, and brother and sister were face to face, standing off. 

"Oh, you sexist fucking bastard!" Isabelle retorted, shoving a finger into his chest. "You have sex just as much as I do, if not more! You bring girls home at night and I see them walking out of her in the morning with their tails between their legs, clutching their shoes to their chest, and you don't even wake up to escort them out! Clary's the first decent girl you've brought home in years, and the first one I've seen more than once!" A muscle in Jace's jaw clenched and he glanced over at Clary anxiously. He hadn't meant to start this. He hadn't even meant to say what he'd said, he just didn't want Clary to go out like that and some pervert to get the wrong idea. He knew it wasn't her fault if someone did mess with her, but he just wanted her to take precautions. Now Isabelle and her damn mouth were going to make Clary think she was just another exploit of his. 

"You shut your mouth you -" He started, but Isabelle wouldn't be silenced. 

"You dare call me a slut, just because I'm a girl? Huh? Is that it? You can't handle the fact of a woman embracing her sexuality, because you feel threatened, you and your big, macho-man ego of yours! Well, I call BULLSHIT! How dare you speak to me like that in MY OWN HOME?!" Isabelle, advanced toward Jace with every word, backing him up to a wall, her face screwed up in anger. 

"Your home?! This is my home, too, and I can say what I damn well please! But you have no right to make me look like some sort of...of...of womanizer in front of Clary, so you shut your damn mouth Isabelle right now or so help me..." His voice was low and threatening. 

"Or so help you what? I dare you to lay a hand on me, brother." She spit the word, saying it ironically, and Jace flinched. Her eyes were filling with tears despite her anger. Clary stood wide-eyed in the corner, unsure what to do. 

"Don't you dare play that card." He warned, but Isabelle did anyway. 

"You're not my brother, and this is not your house. This is my house, and my REAL brother's house, and our parent's house. The LIGHTWOODS. You -" she jabbed him in the chest - "are not a Lightwood." 

Jace clenched his jaw and raised his hand as if to strike Isabelle. She flinched, and Jace realized what he had done. His face sank and his heart broke. He slowly lowered his hand until it hung limply by his side. 

"You're right." He said simply, and Isabelle stepped back. 

"I'm sorry." She mumbled. 

"No, you're not. And you shouldn't be. I had no right." 

"You didn't. But you are my brother. It's your job." She tried to reconcile the situation with a joke and small smile, but it was too soon, and the wound too deep. 

"Go, Isabelle. Go." He said sadly, and Isabelle stepped back again before turning around completely, taking Clary by the hand. 

"Come on, Clary, let's go." She murmured, and they both click-clacked across the floor to the front door. Isabelle opened it slowly and stepped outside, leading Clary by the hand. Clary turned around and locked eyes with Jace just before she stepped outside, and caught the words he mouthed - "Be careful." His eyes were sad, and his shoulders sagged, as if he had been a balloon so inflated with anger, and had popped, leaving him deflated. She didn't know if she should forgive him for what he'd said, but she knew she would. Eventually. She nodded, and he nodded back, and she slipped into the night with Isabelle.


	24. Chapter 24

"I shouldn't have said what I said. I know it. I really do. But he shouldn't have pushed me! He made me say it!" Isabelle cried as they zoomed through the dark streets in her black Corvette at a speed that made Clary white-knuckle the safety handles. 

"He was in the wrong. He had no right to call you a slut." Clary agreed in a small, strained voice, too terrified of her imminent doom at the hands of a tall, dark, speed-demon ballerina named Isabelle to worry that much about the girl's feelings right now. 

"Yeahhhh," Isabelle whined, "but still I mean, he's never going to forget that I said that to him, I mean..." 

"RED LIGHT!" Clary shrieked, cutting Isabelle off, and the girl slammed on the brakes. The car came screeched to a halt at the last possible moment, slamming both of their heads against the back of the seat. 

"Oh, sorry." Izzy mumbled offhandedly, as if she hadn't almost killed them. "I just don't know if I should apologize because I mean...he kind of deserved it, but then again I kind of deserve it too, so I just..." Isabelle rambled on, voicing her every thought as soon as it came into her head. Clary did her best to tune her out, focusing on getting to the club safely and in one piece. She decided to be Isabelle's eyes and pay attention to the road, since Izzy clearly wasn't going to.

They took off again as the light turned green and Clary prayed a silent prayer that they wouldn't end up wrapped around a tree by the end of the night. 

"Oh, stop it, it's not that bad." Isabelle scolded lightheartedly, turning her head to look at Clary's pale and scared form, clutching the handle with white knuckles. 

"Eyes on the road!" Clary screamed, and Isabelle sighed and turned back to the road, whipping the car sharply around a corner, throwing Clary against the door. 

"Ugh, chill out. We're here, it's fine. Jesus." Isabelle rolled her eyes and yanked the keys out of the ignition after she pulled into a parking spot near the entrance of the bar. Clary huffed and set her jaw indignantly, opening the sleek door and stepping out with wobbly knees onto the asphalt. 

"Damn you, Isabelle." She mumbled, smoothing down her dress and stumbling her way up the walk to the entrance of the club. Several people were lined up already, waiting to be ID'd, illuminated by the purplish glow of the black lights from inside. 

"That's right, damn me." Isabelle murmured back, holding onto Clary's elbow. Isabelle led them to a crook in the building, then whipped out her phone and dialed a number. 

"What are you doing?" Clary whispered. 

"Getting us in."

"I thought you had a fake ID!"

"I do, but this will be quicker, considering YOU don't. Plus, I don't want to pay the cover charge." Isabelle tossed her hair off her shoulder and propped her phone between her ear and shoulder. 

After a few moments, Isabelle spoke into the receiver, pitching her voice lower and more seductive than normal. "Heyyyy, Marcus, it's me. It's Isabelle." A pause, and Clary could hear an unintelligible garble on the other end of the phone as the man spoke back. "Yeah, yeah! Totally! Anyway, so listen, I'm outside right now and I brought a friend....uh-huh...yeah...yeah a girl, so could you get us in? I'd think of it as a...personal favor." She purred the last two words and Clary envied the way Isabelle could manipulate any situation to her advantage, just by being beautiful. After a few moments, Isabelle squealed and purred a 'thank you' into the receiver before dropping the slipping the phone into her shirt between her breasts. 

"Marcus said he'll be out in a moment, come on let's get to the front of the line." She grabbed Clary by the arm and Clary ogled at the phone that had mysteriously vanished in Isabelle's tight top. 

"Yeah, yeah, I put my phone in my boobs, what else is new? Every girl does it, it's normal." Isabelle dismissed it nonchalantly, but Clary glanced down pointedly at her own small chest, and didn't think there was any way she could fit a phone in there. 

Isabelle pushed through the crowd of people, and Clary murmured polite 'excuse me's' in her wake as people shoved back and shouted their protests. When they reached the glass doors that led into the building, a big, plain-faced man with long brown hair tied back in a low ponytail palmed it open from inside and whispered in the ear of the even bigger man behind a small podium, collecting money and checking ID's. The man nodded and gestured toward the door as the other guy, Marcus, Clary assumed, guided the both of them inside with a lingering hand on their backs. 

"I gotta get back to work, but I'll be around later tonight if you want to come see me." He leaned down and murmured into Isabelle's ear, then sauntered off and through a door marked EMPLOYEE ONLY. 

"I need a drink." Isabelle announced, flouncing over to the long sleek mahogany bar, paying no mind to the hungry, incredulous looks she received from several of the male customers. She slid into a stool, casting a quick glance behind her to make sure Clary was following, then leaned forward on her forearms, cleavage heaving, and ordered. 

"Gimme Jack Daniels on the rocks, please." She said with a twisted smile, tucking her sleek hair behind her ears. Clary slid into the stool beside her self consciously, hunching forward. 

"You sure? That's a little strong." The bartender quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes I am sure." Isabelle repeated with annoyance, settling back on her seat. "And give her a sex on the beach." She jerked a thumb at Clary.

"Oh, no, no, I'm not going to drink." Clary protested, raising her hands. 

"Relax, it barely even tastes like alcohol. It's, like, fruity tasting and it's not very strong. You'll be fine." Isabelle dismissed Clary's concerns as the bartender slid them their drinks. Clary took a tentative sip and found that Isabelle was right, it was very sweet, but she could still taste the bitter undercurrent of vodka. Isabelle took a bigger sip of her whiskey, then pulled a scrunched up face and coughed once. She shook her head as if to clear the taste, and took another sip, repeating the gestures. 

"You like it?" Isabelle pointed to Clary's drink.

"Sure." Clary lied. 

"See? I told you." Isabelle smiled smugly and turned to her left as a tall stranger tapped on her shoulder. 

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink?" He asked, attempting to be smooth. Isabelle laughed and lifted her glass. 

"I already have one, but nice try." She replied. 

"Well, would you care to dance?" The man tried again. 

"Not particularly, I'm not even buzzed yet. Just got here." Isabelle took another drink. 

The man huffed and shoved away, mumbling something negative about Izzy under his breath. Clary was offended over it, but Isabelle just waved her hand dismissively. 

"It happens a lot. Doesn't bother me." 

As the night went on, Clary worked on her one small drink, taking tiny sips and constantly keeping an eye out for any suspicious persons, while Isabelle drank more and more, got drunker and drunker, and got louder and louder. 

At one point, Isabelle did go out onto the dance floor, tying her hair up in an elegant messy knot, dancing sloppily and seductively around a group of men who groped her shamelessly. Clary stayed at the bar, watching the ordeal closely so she could jump in to the rescue of Isabelle needed it. A tap on her shoulder made her jump nearly ten feet in the air, squeaking in fear. She turned and saw a rather handsome young man with light brown hair and brown eyes leaning on the counter beside her. 

"You look lonely." He began, smiling suggestively. 

"I'm fine, actually." She hunched her shoulders. 

"What are you doing here all alone, sweetheart?" He winked. Ugh. 

"I'm not alone. My friend's over there." Clary pointed at Isabelle still swirling and shaking her way amidst the crowd of sweaty dancers. 

"That's your friend?" He asked incredulously, brows raising.

"Mhmm." 

"Well, I prefer my ladies less sloppy. Like you, you seem pretty put-together, cutie. What's your name?"

"Adele." Clary, feeling nervous, gave her middle name instead. 

"Adele, very nice. Well, Adele, I'm Danny." He stuck a hand out and Clary shook it tentatively. 

"Nice to meet you." She mumbled. 

"Likewise" he replied, flashing a smile and settling in beside her, blocking her view of Isabelle. "So, Adele, is there any way I could get your number?" He winked and slid his phone across the bar to her. 

"Um...I actually...I have a boyfriend." Clary told him, and immediately realized what she had said. Technically, she didn't have a boyfriend, but Jace was definitely something...and he wouldn't appreciate her talking to other guys. 

"Oh, bummer. Alright then, well, take it as flattery." He smiled goodnaturedly at the same time that Clary heard a shout rise up from the dance floor. She jumped up and peered around, trying to get a better look. Apparently, someone had gone too far, and Isabelle was doing her best to give them the what-for. One of the men smacked her on the ass and she whirled around to berate them, at the same time that another guy stuck a hand down her cleavage, laughed raucously with his buddies. Isabelle whirled back around and slapped him, the sound echoing through the establishment. 

"You little bitch!" He roared as Isabelle swayed on wobbly ankles. Clary jumped up and rushed over to the ruckus as quickly as her shoes and delicate balance would allow her to, pushing through the whistles and grabbing hands of the crowd to take Isabelle's arm. 

"Come on, Izzy, you're done. You're done. It's time for you to go home." Clary spoke gently, trying to tug her away from the crowd before things got ugly. 

"No! No, nonono, iiiii am gonna teach this asshole how to rrrespect a lady!" Isabelle's speech was considerably slurred, like her tongue was half numb and she had to talk around it. This sparked several snorts and scoffs, ruff voices mocking the use of the word "lady."

"Nope, no you're not. You're coming home with me, right now. Right now, Isabelle, come on." Clary gave a sharp tug, but met resistance as a guy tugged back, gripping Isabelle's other arm. 

"The lady say she don't wanna go, the lady don't go." He said matter-of-factory, tilting his head. A chorus of "yeah!"s rose up in response to this. 

"The lady is drunk, and in no state of mind to make her own decisions." Clary hissed, wrapping her arms around Isabelle's shoulders.

"Oh, get outta here carrot top, don't be such a buzzkill!" Someone hollered.

"Oh, Claryyy, you're so nice, so nice, little Clary." Isabelle slurred like a child, sagging into Clary. 

"Oof!" Clary struggled with Isabelle's weight. "Yeah, yeah, Clary's so nice, so nice. Clary needs you to come with her, okay? Let's come on, Isabelle." Clary cooed soothingly. 

"Hey, is everything alright here?" A deep voice from behind her asked, and Clary glanced behind her to find that it was Danny from the bar. 

"I'm just trying to get her home, she's done. She doesn't need to be here anymore." Clary told him, and Danny nodded, physically separating the two girls from the crowd of rowdy men. 

"Everybody get back, go on. Party's over!" Danny shouted, shooing back the herd. "She's done, leave her alone. Go on." 

Isabelle wrapped her arms around Clary and cuddled into her shoulder, "Clary, Clary, Clary" she cooed. Clary struggled to hold up Izzy's tall figure and drag her toward the door. The spectacle was attracting large amounts of attention from the bar's patrons who were watching with fastidious looks. 

"Here, I got it. Give her to me." Danny suggested gently, and Clary gratefully passed Isabelle's stumbling weight over to him. Izzy wobbled on her heels as Danny bent and scooped her up, pulling her close against his chest like a baby. 

"No, noooo, no I want Clary, my friend Clary do you know where she is? She's so nice, Clary is...so nice.." Isabelle protested halfheartedly. 

"Clary?" Danny asked with a confused look as he carried Isabelle out the doors to her car, following behind Clary. 

"Um, yeah, that's...that's me." Clary admitted sheepishly. "I didn't know whether you were a creep or not." 

Danny, to her surprise, just laughed. "I understand, no worries. Can't be too careful. Besides, Clary suits you better."

Clary guided him to the car and opened the passenger side door. Danny's expression changed to one of muted surprise at the sight of Isabelle's luxurious car, but he just pressed his lips together and stooped to deposit Isabelle gently in the seat. 

"Thank you, thanks very much that was so nice..." Isabelle started up from the passenger seat, but Clary slammed the door shut, muttering "yeah, yeah, so nice, everything's so nice..." She rolled her eyes and sighed, resting her hand against her forehead. 

"Thanks so much, I don't know how I would've gotten her out here by myself." Clary said, gesturing to Danny. 

He shrugged. "Eh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. You're a good friend, going after her like that."

Clary shook her head, smiling nervously. "Nah, she'd do it for me. Well, at least I hope she would." They both laughed. "Listen, thanks again -"

"Stop, it's no big deal. It was just the right thing to do." Danny said graciously. "Are you okay to drive home?" He asked with genuine concern. 

"Yeah, I didn't drink. I actually hate drinking...and bars...and dancing...so. I only came for her." 

"Like I said, you're a good friend. Well, be safe on the way home. Get her to eat something before bed, she'll be fine. Hungover as all hell in the morning, but fine." He opened Clary's driver side door for her and she slid in. He shut it firmly behind her, and she rolled the window down to thank him again. He waved briefly, then turned and strode back into the building, and Clary silently thanked whatever God there was up there for the kindness of strangers. 

"Okay, now how the fuck do you work this thing?" She muttered to herself, staring at the modern, luxurious technologies of Isabelle's car. Isabelle giggled from the passenger seat. 

"Well, first thing I need to do is take off these damned shoes.." Clary grunted as she pulled off the heavy boots and chunked them into the backseat. She pressed on the brake with her bare foot and shifted the car into reverse, guiding it slowly out of the spot, like a grandma. Once it was where she needed it, she shifted it back into drive and pressed on the gas, and the car shot forward with a jolt.

"Eep!" Clary squealed, and tried again, pressing the gas pedal deliberately slowly with her big toe, but it still seemed to jerk forward. "Ughhh damn damn damn, damn you Isabelle" she muttered as she drove cautiously along the dark streets, gripping the wheel at 10-and-2, sweating nervously. She absolutely hated this car. 

Isabelle babbled on in the passenger seat, her head lolling back and forth across the seat. 

"Mmhmm, yep, just keep talking Isabelle, keep talking. Whatever you do just don't throw up." Clary murmured, never taking her eyes off the road. Her muscles were tense as she drove with the caution of a 14 year old getting their driver's permit. She started to take Isabelle back home, but decided to ask first. 

"Isabelle, you wanna go home or do you wanna go to my house?"

"Nope I don't wanna...wanna see Jace" she slurred back. "Let's go to your house! It'll be like a sleepover like little kids like when I was little, that'll be fun, that's fun." Clary laughed despite herself and nodded. 

"Okay, Isabelle, I'll take you to my house."

When they finally pulled up at Clary's apartment, Isabelle had gathered at least a tiny sliver of sobriety. She could at least stand on her own, but she was still absolutely smashed. Clary guided the heels off Isabelle's feet before she allowed her out of the car, and Izzy clutched them to her chest as she padded up the walkway. She seemed distracted now, having passed the giddy stage of being drunk, and entered into more mysterious territory. 

Clary guided her by the elbow and unlocked the door, relishing in the cozy warmth that enveloped her as she stepped into the dirty living room. 

"Simon! It's me!" She called, and pulled Isabelle along and into the kitchen. Clary put on a pot of coffee and handed Isabelle a pack of crackers that she snatched out of the cabinet. 

"Eat these." She commanded and started up the steps to her bedroom, Isabelle wobbling along behind her like a puppy. Clary palmed open the door and gestured to her unmade bed, which Isabelle gratefully plopped down on, legs splayed, dropping cracker crumbs all in the sheets. Clary ran a hand over her tired face and sank down in the middle of the floor. 

"I gotta call Jace and let him know where you are." Clary said and pulled out her phone from her purse. Isabelle's face pulled into a frown, and she looked like she might cry at any minute as Clary left Jace a message saying that Isabelle was at her house. He didn't answer, and Clary didn't have time to dwell on the fact that it was probably on purpose, he was probably mad at her for leaving. Right now she had enough to handle. 

When she set the phone down and looked up she saw that Isabelle was, in fact, crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks in wet tracks, smearing her dark eye makeup, and Izzy's pouty lips were puckered into that awful frown people get when they're about to ugly-cry. 

"Oh no," Clary complained to herself, heaving herself up and going to Isabelle's side. "What's wrong, Iz?" She asked, gathering Isabelle's hair away from her face and into a ponytail. 

Isabelle burst into tears, coughing and wiping her hands on her wet cheeks. "I'm such a...a...a disgrace." 

"A disgrace? Isabelle what are you talking about?" Clary rubbed her back soothingly. At this point Simon had roused himself groggily from sleep, and was poised to walk through the door to greet Clary, but hesitated when he heard the blubbering from the other room. He stayed with his ear pressed against the door, listening. At first he had been excited to see the other girl, Isabelle, again, but now he felt bad for her more than anything. 

"Jace is right about meeee" she cried, scrubbing the tears angrily off her cheeks as they fell. "I hate myself, I hate being like this, I just don't know any other way."

"No, no, Jace is not right about you, Jace was a jerk, a horrible jerk - "

"Yes he is, yes he is!" Izzy screeched, sitting on the edge of the bed with her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Even my own parents don't care about me, I don't know why I even try.." A fresh wave of tears surfaced and Isabelle was sniffling and hiccuping hard, like a child crying. 

"He's...(sniffle)...always...(sniffle)...been there for me and Alec...(hiccup)...and he-h-he..." A sob ran through her and Clary wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her down against her chest. 

"Shhh...it's okay. It's okay." Clary murmured, stroking Isabelle's hair.

"He's my b-brother, he's my brother and I sh-shouldn't have said that to him..." She cried, burying her face in Clary's chest. 

"It's okay, he'll understand, Iz. He knows you didn't mean it." 

"I just...I just...I watch my brothers give their hearts away and I think, Don’t you know better? Hearts are breakable. And I think even when you heal...you’re never what you were before." Isabelle mumbled against her chest, and Clary was struck by the profundity of the words coming from a sobbing, drunk girl. "Jace has you and Alec has someone and I just...I have no one, Clary, I have no one!" She cried.

"That's not true, you have me. You have me." 

"You know, when I was a little girl, I caught my dad cheating on my mom? There was another lady...a-at the house. I was probably like, like eight or nine." Isabelle went very still in Clary's arms, sniffling and hiccuping still, but calmer. A scary calm.

"I didn't know whether I should tell my mom. I didn't want my dad to be mad at me. So I kept it a secret." Isabelle paused for a long time. "She found out eventually, though. And I remember, I'll always remember, that night. She wouldn't stop crying, she was drinking. She told me to never trust my heart. To never fall in love. It would only hurt me in the end." 

Simon's heart broke on the other side of the door. He couldn't even imagine Isabelle's pain. To be alone most of her life, to be caught in the middle of an adult affair, forced to grow up too quickly. Taken for granted by everyone she had ever loved, forced to harden her heart, only exposing her true feelings in rare moments like now, when she was drunk and loose. He wanted to go comfort her, but knew he shouldn't. He wasn't even supposed to be listening. 

Clary was very quiet, listening intently as she rocked Isabelle back and forth. The latter girl's body shook silently as she wept, and Clary kissed the top of her head. 

"Jace looked out for me. We protect each other, the three of us. I know he just wants the best for me. I shouldn't have thrown that in his face, especially not after what happened to his parents." 

"W-what happened to his parents?" Clary asked, curiosity getting the best of her. 

"He didn't tell you? They were murdered." Isabelle replied, the words seemed to hang in the room, covering everything in a layer of darkness. It was a dirty word, a nasty word. A word that was spit out of the side of ones mouth, a word that slithered in the dark, that was whispered behind hands and headlined in newspapers. 

Before Clary could ask anything else, however, Isabelle suddenly jumped up with her hands covering her mouth and bolted for the door to the bathroom, behind which Simon was lurking. She flung open the door, barely giving Simon enough time to jump back without getting flattened. Isabelle launched onto her knees in front of the toilet and promptly began vomiting, loudly, spitting up all the whiskey she had drank that night. 

Clary rushed into the bathroom behind her, holding her hair back as Izzy hung her head over the toilet and spewed, retching violently. 

"Simon!" Clary cried in shock and anger when she saw him wide-eyed in the corner. "We're you spying the whole time?!" She demanded. 

"No!" Simon shook his head fervently and tried to explain, but to no avail. 

"Now is not the time for your little perv games, Simon. She's not in a good place right now." Clary scolded, but it was halfhearted. 

"I know, I heard. I just-I wanted to help. I didn't know whether to come in or not."

"I have it under control. Go back to bed." Clary commanded as another round of vomiting shook Isabelle's body. Clary turned her head away from the sight and smell, her own stomach threatening to turn. 

"Alright. Well, tell her....tell her that I'm here. If she needs anything. Anything at all." Simon replied softly, and shuffled back into his room slowly, casting a sad look over his shoulder at the scene: two girls, broken by the world, leaning on one another, pushing forward despite every attempt to knock them down. Two girls with broken hearts, just trying to make it through the night.


	25. Chapter 25

The next morning, as expected, Isabelle felt like hammered horseshit. She opened her eyes groggily, tangled up in the sheets of Clary's bed, her throat burning, her head throbbing and her mouth tasting like something had crawled in there and died while she was out. She blinked slowly, trying to remember where she was. Loud noises like gunfire seemed to be coming from somewhere close by and each pop was like an explosion in her brain. 

With a groan, she rolled out of bed, clutching her head, and stumbled into the bathroom. The noise got louder. Isabelle gritted her teeth and shoved open the door on the other side of the bathroom, bewildering a half-dressed Simon who was stretched out on the floor playing Modern Warfare on the Xbox. 

"Isabelle!" He shouted in surprise. "You're up early."

"Turn. It. Off." She ground out through gritted teeth, her one hand on her head, the other pointing accusingly toward the TV.

"B-but it's not the same without the sound, I can't get the full experience. Without the gunfire it's not Modern Warfare anymore, it's like Modern Heads Up-Seven Up." He protested, pushing his glasses up on his nose. 

Isabelle fixed him with a dull glare and shuffled across the carpet purposefully, slamming her finger down on the power button on the game console.

"What? No! I didn't even save the game yet, Isabelle, now I have to do it all ov-" He began to whine, then looked up and caught a glimpse of the girl's face. She glared up at him through long, clumpy lashes, makeup smeared underneath both of her dark, bloodshot eyes. The expression If looks could kill... most definitely applied here. 

Simon choked on his words and gulped, awkwardly changing his train of conversation. "Uh, Clary is downstairs making us breakfast if you wanna, like, go...down there and see her..." He mumbled nervously beneath the intensity of Isabelle's gaze. The girl just grunted and turned on her heels, flopping onto the bed near her. 

"That...that's my bed...but...okay. That's cool. You can just, y'know, crash there." Simon protested feebly as Isabelle crawled under the covers and drew them up over her head, just the ends of her dark hair peeking out on top of the pillow. 

"It's cold." She grumbled, not taking her head out from under the quilt. 

"You're under the blankets..." Simon replied with confusion. 

"It's. Cold." She repeated dully, her voice thick and muffled. 

"Do you want me to go get more blankets...?"

"Simon, Jesus, just get up here! Are you stupid or something? Christ!" Isabelle snapped with frustration, throwing the blankets off her head for dramatic effect, leaving her hair scattered this way and that all over her face. She blew air up and out of her mouth to move it away. 

"Oh! Oh, um, okay..." Simon stuttered, blushing a deep pink. He hoisted himself up from the floor and scooted in beside Isabelle in the twin bed, forced to hold her close to his body if they both were to fit. She smelled strongly of morning-breath and sour alcohol, but he still got a hint of her natural jasmine and vanilla scent on her pale skin. Izzy snuggled back against Simon as he nervously wrapped his arms around her, his heart in his throat. 

"Don't get any ideas." She mumbled as she started to fall back into sleep. "I just don't feel good right now...wanted someone to hold me..." Her voice trailed off and she yawned, her heavy eyelids drooping. Simon kissed her hair tenderly and willed his heart to stop beating so embarrassingly fast. Within a few minutes, Simon began to relax and he felt himself being pulled under into sleep as well, the morning light peeking through the slats in the window, the smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen. It was as peaceful as it could be. 

A scream and the sound of shattering glass popped his bubble of serenity. 

"Clary!" He yelled, jumping out of bed. Isabelle woke up, her hands over her ears and her face scrunched up. 

"What in fresh hell - ?" She began angrily, but Simon leaned in and kissed her forehead, drawing the covers up over her head.

"Shh. Go back to sleep." He said offhandedly, somewhat irritated, and rushed down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Clary had pancakes on the stove and they were smoking, having been left on the skillet for far too long. Simon hurriedly rushed over and lifted the pan off the stove, dumping the burnt mass of pancake into the garbage before it could set off the fire alarm. He tossed the hot pan into the sink without thinking and it hissed loudly, touching the wet surface. 

"Clary!" He yelled panickedly, turning in circles trying to find her. 

"Out here." Her voice was small and strained. Simon rushed to the back door which was left slightly ajar, and palmed it open frantically. Clary was sitting on the back patio amidst fragments of porcelain, eggshells, bread crust, and various other unidentifiable food scraps. What he assumed was egg yolk was smeared on her bare legs. She stared down at a piece of paper that she gripped tightly in her hand. 

"Clary, what happened? Are you okay?" He asked, kneeling down beside her and carefully picking up the larger pieces of shattered porcelain.

"Oh, I, uh, I just dropped the scrap bowl. I'm sorry." She muttered offhandedly, waving her hand at the mess. 

"What's this?" He asked, his brows drawing together, plucking the paper out of her hand. It turned out to be several papers, he discovered, as four or five pieces fluttered to the ground. One in particular stood out and he squinted his eyes to examine closer. 

I THOUGHT YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON THE FIRST TIME CLARY, was scrawled in thick, bold, marker. Simon's heart jumped into his throat as he hurriedly turned over the paper. 

It was a photograph. 

In the photograph, Clary was sitting at a bar, talking to a guy Simon didn't recognize. The picture was heavily zoomed in, focused primarily on Clary's skimpy outfit. Feeling sick, Simon snatched up the rest of the photographs and turned them over, shuffling through them one by one, each one making him sicker than the last. 

A shot of Clary pulling Isabelle away from a group of men. 

A shot of Clary holding Isabelle in her arms, taken from behind. 

A shot of Clary bent over, buckling Isabelle into the car. 

A shot of Clary walking up the driveway to their house, gripping Isabelle by the wrist. 

Simon dropped the pictures with shaking hands, as if they had burned him. 

"He knows where I live." Clary deadpanned ominously, keeping her gaze focused in front of her. That was all she said. It was all she had to say. She stared down at the photos on the ground for several unsettling minutes, then calmly got up, legs trembling, and walked back inside. Simon gathered up the pictures and followed her. 

This was real now. 

Chapter 26  
"We have to call the police!" Simon claimed adamantly, slamming the papers down on the kitchen counter as Clary calmly resumed cooking. 

"What are they going to do, Simon?" She replied coolly, which drove Simon even farther up the wall. Sometimes it was like Clary wasn't even human to him. 

He spluttered for a few moments, trying to come up with an answer, flailing his arms in an angry, frustrated gesture. "We have to do something, Clary, we can't just let this keep going on!" 

"Do you want bacon or sausage?" She asked in a low, smooth voice that only barely trembled. You'd have to be listening for it to notice it. 

"Do I want - ?! Did you seriously just ask me if I wanted bacon or fucking sausage right now, Clary?! I cannot believe -" His eyes nearly bugged out of his head with disbelief and his voice was reaching a shrill, high-pitch, the way it did when he got too worked up. 

"Is Isabelle awake? Do you know what she wants?" Clary continued, pouring pancake batter from a blue plastic bowl into the skillet she had retrieved from the sink. She didn't turn around to look at Simon. 

"Clary, this is serious, I -"

"Honestly, I bet she doesn't like either one. I'll just make her an extra pancake." Clary had to work hard to keep the shakiness out of her voice. She wished Simon would just go away so she could cry or scream or blow something up. 

"Clary." He said in a strong, stern voice. 

Clary stiffened, but continued her ministrations without turning around. 

"Clary." He boomed again, grabbing her shoulder roughly. She shook his hand off just as aggressively. 

"Clarissa!" He shouted, grabbing her elbow this time, trying to forcibly turn her toward him.

Clary picked up a plate as Simon spun her around and threw it forcefully onto the linoleum, which caused a loud bang! and made him jump, but didn't succeed in breaking the white and blue china dish. Simon jumped back in bewilderment. 

She dropped to her knees and grabbed the plate in both of her thin, freckled hands and began banging it on the ground, grunting with each hit. 

"Why...(hit)....won't....(bang)...you...break...(hit)....you piece of...(bang)...shit!" Clary's voice got louder and more desperate with every word, until eventually it wasn't so much a word as a scream that ripped from her throat as she hurled the chipped plate at the wall across from her as hard as she could, watching as it shattered into hundreds of pieces that clinked to the ground one by one. A light film of powder floated around the rubble. 

Clary was breathing heavily, like she had just got done fighting the heavyweight championship, and her hands trembled like she had Parkinson's. The trembling made Clary angry. She was tired of fear, she was tired of sadness, she was tired of always being weak, always being the one afraid. She frantically reached behind her, grabbing up onto the counter, and pulled a metal mixing bowl down to her level with a clang. 

She hurled the mixing bowl at the wall where she had aimed the plate, but she missed, and it glanced off the refrigerator, spinning around on the floor with a metallic clash. She reached behind her again and launched a spatula. A fork. A bag of chocolate chips. Half a stick of butter. Anything she could get her hands on, she pitched across the kitchen with as much force as she could manage. She felt Simon's arms wrap around her torso, pinning her flailing limbs tight to her body. 

She fought and railed against him, all teeth and nails and spit, yanking and lurching to get out of his grasp. Simon conceded and loosened his grip, allowing Clary to crawl away from him across the kitchen floor. The look on her face was one of pure determination, as if she was on a mission sent straight from God. She looked likely to rip the place apart barehanded. 

Clary stumbled across the dirty floor, butter and oil and chocolate chips sticking to her feet and threatening to slip her. "I bet there are cameras on the house. I bet there are cameras here." She muttered as she nearly sprinted to the front door, snatching up the photographs on her way. 

"Clary, what are you doing? Come back inside!" Simon called after her, slipping in oil as he tried to hastily follow her. Isabelle appeared at the bottom of the staircase, looking bleary-eyed and messy, like she'd just been in the fucking hunger games. And yet she still managed to make it sexy. Simon shook his head and decided to ponder it later. 

"What's going on?" Isabelle crooned, rubbing her sticky eyes with a fist, like a little girl. Her knuckles came away black with makeup. 

"One thing at a time please, Isabelle." He responded crossly, storming past her to the gaping front door where Clary had disappeared out of. She was frantically, almost maniacally, searching everything she could think of. She was pawing through the bushes, kicking up mulch in the flower beds, beating the cobwebs at the top of the pillars with a broom. 

"You think you can just play me? You think you this is a fun little game you can play?" She mumbled under her breath, getting progressively louder. Isabelle joined Simon's silhouette in the doorway. 

"Well fuck you! I am not afraid of you, you bastard!" She screeched in a wobbly voice, searching like a madman for the hidden cameras she believed to be there. The truly scary part of it was that she could be right. There very well could be hidden cameras. Why wouldn't there be? 

Isabelle and Simon saw the car pull up before Clary did. She didn't seem to be particularly observant of her outlying surroundings at the moment. Jace's familiar blonde head popped out of the driver's side as he slammed the door, his face immediately scrunching into a mask of surprise and confusion. 

"What in the actual fuck - ?" He muttered, watching Clary's antics, her bright hair escaping it's braid, pancake batter smeared across her face. 

"Did you hear me? Are you watching me right now? Does this piss you off?" She demanded of no one in particular, brandishing the photographs like a torch or a weapon. "Because I am not scared of you, motherfucker!" The bravado in her voice began to wane. Clary was completely terrified, in truth. She could feel the fear in her very bones. The paranoia. 

"I...am not...scared of you...!" She panted in a trembling voice, violently ripping up one of the photographs in her hand and flinging them onto the ground, stomping on them as if trying to put out a fire. 

One of the neighbors had emerged onto their front porch, an elderly lady wrapped in a fluffy pink robe, curlers in her hair and slippers on her feet, watching the spectacle with poorly disguised contempt and curiosity. Like watching a car accident or a trashy catfight. 

Jace smoothly and swiftly ascended the brick stairs leading to Clary's apartment and scooped her into his arms as she kicked and flailed. He pressed a hand over her mouth and tried to carry her inside but she bit his fingers as hard as she could. 

"You," she spit, "are the last person I want to talk to right now!" She pointed her finger accusingly at him and continued her vain struggle for escape. Jace strode into the apartment and deposited her roughly on the couch as Isabelle stared in groggy astonishment. 

"Sorry, Miss Rosemary." Simon called sheepishly, raising his hand in an awkward wave toward the old lady as he swung the door shut. "Sorry!" The old woman huffed and rested her fists on her bony hips. 

"Jesus H. Roosevelt fucking Christ." Simon muttered to himself in exasperation, sliding down the wall to the floor.


	26. Chapter 26

"What in the name of God is going on?" Jace demanded, frustratedly running a hand through his fair hair, making it stick up in places. 

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Clary replied bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't know where this anger was coming from but she was too tired to reign it in. Simon noticed it too, looking from Jace to Clary and back again with a face that said "did I miss something?"

"What are you talking about, Clary?" Jace's voice was tired, like he wasn't in the mood for her games right now. 

"Maybe you'd know if you'd picked up the phone last night." She pulled her knees up to her chest and sank back into the couch.

"That's what you're mad about? I didn't answer the phone?" He scoffed, throwing his hands in the air and letting them drop at his thighs in a gesture of exasperation. 

"No, Jace, that's not what I'm mad about. You want to know what I'm mad about?" It was quiet. Jace just stared at her dumbly. 

"I said, do you want to know what I am mad about?" She repeated slowly and forcefully, purposefully over-enunciating each word. "This means yes," Clary nodded her head yes, "and this means no." Clary shook her head no. 

Jace nodded his head yes, and Simon did, too, mockingly, nudging Isabelle with his elbow. She giggled quietly behind her hand. 

Clary stood up slowly from the couch, her face a dangerous composure of calmness, the calm before something awful. "I am mad because I cannot even live anymore without the fear of someone watching me. I am mad because I can't get dressed in my own goddamn bedroom without being paranoid of cameras. I am mad because for a while I could console myself by saying that level of paranoia seemed a bit overdramatic - but now it has come to fucking fruition." She flung the photographs onto the coffee table for effect. They landed with a loud whap!

Jace tensed up and flinched ever so slightly. 

"I am mad because the police will not do a damn thing to help me. I am mad because I can't wear whatever I fucking please without A) the fear of my sick stalker reprimanding me for it, and B) the fear of you reprimanding me for it like I am yours to command!" She jabbed a finger in his chest. 

"I am mad, Jace, not because you didn't answer the phone, but because right now I am at a point in my life where a phone call could mean the difference between my life or my death and you promised you would be there and you weren't. I am mad because, although that phone call was luckily not life or death, it was concerning the safety of your goddamned sister who I had to physically drag into this house last night, but you couldn't give two fucks about that, could you?" She knew she was going too far but it felt so good to yell, to cuss and spit and be listened to for once, that she didn't want to stop. 

"And I am fucking pissed that everyone in this room is looking at me like I am some sort of lunatic for being mad about these things." Clary's green eyes very blazing, as if there were sparks shooting up behind her retina. Jace was simultaneously mesmerized and intimidated by them, standing wide-eyed and bewildered, his jaw clenched and his veiny arms crossed right across his chest in indignation. 

"Was that enough, or do you think I should keep going?" She asked with enough sarcasm to make Stephen Colbert himself keel over, turning to Isabelle with arched eyebrows, her lips set in a line. 

Isabelle stared at her and shrugged with a look that said "well, don't look at me!" until she returned her gaze to Jace. 

"Yikes..." Simon whispered, and Isabelle nodded in agreement. 

"Clary, you know I'm sorry about what I said last night..." Jace began, but Clary bent down and snatched up the photos she had thrown, thrusting them viciously into Jace's chest. 

"Hush. That's not what's important right now. This is." She rocked back on her heels, waiting for it to sink in for him. 

Jace's face was a carousel of emotions. First, indignation at Clary's outburst, streaks of pink staining his neck the way they do when he gets angry. Then confusion, the skin between his eyes crinkling into a starburst. Then shock, his thick, fair brows shooting up into his hairline, his jaw going slack. Then back to anger, the telltale muscle in his jaw twitching, posture tensing, teeth clenching, grip tightening. 

"Where did you get these?" He ground out, flashing Clary a look she couldn't quite read. 

"Our friend was nice enough to leave them right on the back porch for me. Tucked under the welcome mat." The words absolutely dripped sarcasm and contempt. 

"How does he know where you live?" Jace asked in a voice quickly rising to panic. 

"You think I know that?" 

Simon cut her a scolding look, silently reminding her to stop acting like such a brat. He used to give her that look all the time when they were kids. 

"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him, the little sick pervert - " Jace's fists clenched involuntarily, severely crumpling the pictures. He gritted his teeth and looked vaguely like Bruce Banner right before he turns into the Hulk. 

In a show of either incredibly good or incredibly bad timing, however you want to look at it, the phone rang. Everyone in the room froze. They all knew who it would be. Clary was suddenly overtaken by the outrageously inappropriate urge to laugh at the drama of it all. All three of them stared at her with matching looks of horror and confusion. 

Regaining her composure, Clary cleared her throat as the giggles subsided and the real fear set in. It was a feeling she was becoming used to now, and that fact made her almost want to cry. With shaky fingers, she picked up her phone and slid her thumb across the glass to answer it. She pressed the speaker button. 

"Hello?" She ventured, putting up a brave front, her voice full and commanding.

"I see my gift has been received, love. Aren't I a lovely photographer? You're welcome." His voice was low, full of amusement and gloat. 

"So I was right then? There are cameras on the house?" She asked in a forcibly cool voice, her heart pounding out of her chest. Her stomach was flipping so much she seriously feared she was going to throw up all over the carpet. 

"Ah, close - but no cigar. There are cameras, but they're not on the house. Good guess though, sweetie." Her heart dropped into her stomach. 

"Well then where are they?" Her voice shook a bit this time, to her dismay. Jace opened his mouth like he was about to cut in, but Clary held up a hand to shut him up. She wanted her stalker to stay on the line this time, she wanted answers. And if Jace started threatening and hollering it would only make him hang up, and they'd be just as lost as before and twice as unsettled.

"C'mon now, darling, let's not ask such silly questions. You know I won't tell you."

"You're right, how silly of me." She deadpanned. 

"Are you enjoying this little game? I know I am."   
She could practically see him smiling to himself, steepling his fingers and propping his feet up in the desk like a pantomime villain. In her head she pictured him like the Joker.

"Quite." She forced out between gritted teeth. "However, it would be much more fun if I could know your name?" 

He chuckled softly for a few moments, sending shivers down her spine. 

Then he spoke, his voice a whisper, his mouth right up against the receiver. "Sebastian." 

The line clicked dead. 

Chapter 28

Clary shuffled through the aisle behind Jace with her arms crossed as he perused the wall-to-wall rack of locks and deadbolts in Home Depot. Home Depot was in all honesty probably the most boring store in the entire United States of America, along with Lowe's. Whenever she'd had to come here with her mom as a child it had nearly driven her crazy with boredom, there was absolutely nothing interesting to look at, not even candy or the tabloid magazines at the front registers. It was all hammers and ceiling fans and toilet seats. It made her relish working at the Duck In where there was at least decent air conditioning and soda in the vending machines. 

The thought of going back to work on Monday morning made her feel queasy. If Sebastian knew where she lived, of course he knew where she worked. What was to stop him from coming in whenever he pleased under pretense of shopping? Or worse, what if he came back to the photo counter and had her develop her own creepy stalker photos just to derail her? He could, he definitely could. She couldn't do anything about it, it was her job, she had to do her job. He could just come in and, and, and...and just flaunt it at her, like dangling a carrot in front of the horse you're riding, like, like-

"Hey, you okay?" Jace's voice startled her out of her reverie. Looking up, she saw that he was staring at her with open concern, his head ducked to her level, a hand lightly resting on her shoulder. "You looked a little sick. I can take you home and come back afterward if you want?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was just...thinking." She shook her head dismissively and looked down and away from him. Jace had insisted that the two of them go to town and buy security measures for her house - new locks for all the doors, an alarm and security system, the works. He insisted she let him pay for it all, against her protestations. While they did this, Isabelle and Simon decided to get cleaned up and drive down to State campus and inquire about the name Sebastian, see if they could get their hands on any student records or class lists. Jace agreed that was a great idea, even though Clary thought it was pointless. Even if they did figure out his identity, what would that do? But Jace thought maybe they could go back to the police station and bring it all to Officer Kennedy, perhaps she could file a restraining order. She was doubtful it would work, but willing to try anything at this point. 

"What were you thinking about? Look, don't make yourself sick over this. If you have a worry, tell it to me. Let me handle the stress. Give it all to me." He smiled with one side of his mouth, exposing his one adorable chipped tooth that always made her swoon. 

Stop it, Clary. You're mad at him, remember? She thought to herself, kicking herself mentally. It didn't matter how cute his tooth was or how sweet he was being or how much all she wanted was for him to hold her and kiss her and make her forget about all this, he had still let her down severely. She couldn't let him off that easy...could she?

"I was thinking he could come to my work." She replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder and shrugging, trying to appear nonchalant. She didn't want anyone to know how truly frightened she was. She wanted to be brave and noble like the characters she read about in her books. 

"Work? You can't go back to work, Clary, are you crazy?" Jace shook his head in disbelief, hanging a heavy lock back on its hook. 

"I have to, or I'll lose my job! Sorry not everyone is as privileged as you, some of us have to work for our money." She retorted with surprising bitterness, giving him the same look he'd given her. All this stress was making her crabby, turning her into someone she didn't want to be. 

His features closed off immediately, returning his face to it's usual unreadable, stony mask.

"Privileged. I'm privileged." He muttered, with a tone that almost sounded hurt. 

"That's not what I meant..." She began, regretting her temper. She really hadn't meant to be so mean lately. What is wrong with me? She laid her hand on Jace's arm softly. "I'm sorry, it's just - "

"No, it's cool. I know what you meant." He took some items off the shelf and tossed them angrily into the cart. "Let's go." Jace took long, determined strides as he pushed the buggie down the aisle toward the checkout, his black Doc Marten's clomping. 

"Jace." She called, staying put in her spot. He pretended not to hear her, continuing on. "Jace!" She called again, with more intensity. He stopped but didn't turn around. 

Clary swiveled her head around quickly to make sure they were alone in the aisle. 

"I'm sorry." She admitted quietly. "Isabelle told me what happened to your parents." 

Clary saw Jace's back stiffen. He didn't answer for a few moments, and she feared she had gotten Isabelle into trouble or stepped over a boundary and made him even more angry with her. 

Finally, he cleared his throat, turning halfway to her. "I don't want your pity if that's what you're trying to give me."

She shook her head. "Not pity. Regret. Apology." She paused, debating what to say next. "Empathy." She finally said. 

He snorted. "Empathy? You don't know how I feel. It doesn't even matter anyway."

"Yes, empathy. I don't know how you feel, how you felt, I can't even imagine it, and I won't pretend to." She crossed the length of the aisle to him, stopped with her face just inches from his, craning her neck to look up into his beautiful, amber eyes. The eyes that made her feel reborn, renewed, loved. The eyes she thought about every time she was scared, every time she laid in bed and felt cripplingly alone. 

"I don't know how you feel, but we're both...we're both fucked up." She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, almost as if she were talking to herself. "Life's a bastard, and it has dealt the both of us really, really shitty cards at the hands of our parents. We've been hurt in different ways, but we've both been hurt." 

She looked up at him then, flinching at the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't read his emotions. 

"Let me in. I want to...help you." She almost said love. She had wanted to. It had formed on her tongue and stuck in her throat. She swallowed it, forced it back down with shame. He couldn't love her. "I care about you."

Jace's eyes were a whirlpool, sucking her in. She didn't even try to hang on, just let herself be whisked away as he leaned down to kiss her, enveloping her in his warmth. Clary felt his touch spread out from her lips through every corner of her body, all the way through her veins out to her fingertips and down to her toes. She was light. In both senses of the word, she was light. 

He pulled away all too quickly and immediately Clary felt the gasping loss of him, the cold rushing in between their bodies as his lips left hers. She wanted to kiss him until she couldn't breathe. She actually breathed better when he was kissing her, when she was breathing his air, as if it were somehow more precious than her own. 

"How is it that you always know exactly what to say?" He asked in a whisper, their faces still close. His lips were quirked into a sad smile. 

"I don't." She admitted on an exhale with a relieved giggle, making him chuckle as well. "I honestly don't even know what I'm going to say until I've said it, I just pray it all works out in the end." That made him laugh again. 

"You amaze me. Every day, you amaze me." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. 

"We're...kind of in the middle of Home Depot right now. Just reminding you." 

Jace laughed heartily this time, pulling away from her. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his face transformed into the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, every time he laughed. Like he was shining from within, like an angel incarnate. 

"Cmon, little red, let's go home and spy-proof your lair." 

She giggled. "Can I ride in the cart?" She asked with childlike enthusiasm, bouncing on her toes, forgetting their situation for a moment, forgetting her fear. Laughter truly was the best medicine. 

"Can you ride in the cart? Clary you are 18 years old!" He tried to remain serious but couldn't help dissolving into laughter again as Clary squealed "childhood never dies!" and swung herself into the cart with the various home improvement tools and supplies. 

"All passengers secured, ready for take off." He said, imitating a pilot voice, and took off at a run through the aisle, pushing Clary ahead of him in the cart, making her grip the sides to stay upright. 

"Whee!" She squealed in an intentionally high-pitched and childlike voice. 

They looked wild and crazy, two almost-grown people sprinting through Home Depot laughing like madmen. They looked in love. 

"No running in the store please!" An old woman wearing a blue Home Depot vest called out halfheartedly. The scene made her smile, and she winked conspiratorially at them as they passed by. Jace winked back. 

All too soon, they reached the checkout lanes. Jace cut a sharp right, screeching the cart's wheels loudly, slinging a wind blown, giggling Clary into the side of the cart as he pushed them into a lane. "Attention passengers, the plane has now landed. Herondale Airlines welcomes you to checkout lane 12 where the local time is 10:33 pm. We'll be taxiing to the gate for the next few minutes, so please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign. Thank you." He imitated his pilot voice again, speaking out of the side of his mouth. A little boy in front of them turned to watch, laughing. Clary waved at him and he turned shyly back into his mother's skirt. 

"You're a goofball." She said to Jace, turning over her shoulder. 

"Truer words were never spoken, my dear." He winked and she grinned and he grinned back and for a moment she could forget all the bad things in her life. Sitting here in an orange shopping cart in the middle of Home Depot mid-morning, she fell in love with Jace Herondale. Totally and completely.


	27. Chapter 27

"Okay bitches, here's what we found!" Simon's lilting voice carried throughout the apartment as Jace went to work installing new locks on the doors. Simon carried a black spiral notebook in one hand, a pen stuck behind his ear, little curls of hair almost obscuring it from view. Isabelle stood behind him, arms crossed, face unreadable. 

Both Jace and Clary's heads snapped up. 

"Drumroll please." Simon prodded theatrically, as Clary reluctantly patted out a weak beat on her thighs, rolling her eyes.

"You ready? You ready?" A dramatic pause, his bushy eyebrows suspended at the top of his forehead. "...absolutely fucking nothing!" He exclaimed with over-the-top cheerfulness, throwing the notebook onto the floor. 

"Simon, what the hell? What do you mean nothing?" Clary's mouth hung agape in an expression of extreme perturbation. 

Isabelle sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. "What twinkle-toes here is trying to say is that the administration told us it was against policy to give out student information." 

"But it's just a name." Jace protested. 

"Yeah, that's what I said. Then the jackass tried to get smart and asked me if it was just a name, why was I in such a fluster to get it?" She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Asshole."

"Great. So we've got nothing." Jace deadpanned, returning to his work, kneeling on the tile floor in front of the door. 

"Not nothing. We've got new locks. Keep up the good work, buddy!" Simon winked, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Jace. 

Jace turned and shot him daggers. Simon's smile quickly faded. 

Clary groaned and collapsed further into the couch. She grabbed one of their mismatched throw pillows and pressed it over her face, screaming into it's fluff. Isabelle ripped it out of her hands.

"Let's stop acting like a bunch of twats with our hands in our pants and actually think about this for a second, shall we?" She snapped, glaring at everyone in turn. They ducked their heads sheepishly. 

"Dude's name is Sebastian. That's a weird ass name. How many Sebastian's have you ever met? Huh?" Isabelle raised her eyebrows and Clary shrugged and nodded knowingly, indicating her point was received. 

"Soooo, you go to school, casually ask your professors afterward if they have Sebastian in another class. Make up some lie about needing to pick up an old essay of his or something for him. Maybe his name will be on it. I don't know, but do something goddammit." 

"Wow, since when did you realize how much better you are than all of us, Isabelle?" Clary's voice held a dangerous edge. 

"Excuse me?" Isabelle's brows pulled together. Simon looked at Jace and made his "oh shitty shit" face by pulling his mouth into a straight line, biting down on his bottom lip and widening his eyes. 

"Since this is such a casual dilemma for you and you're so over it, why don't you just take charge of it, yeah? Since you're obviously the only one around here with any brains." Clary smiled sweetly, crossing her arms and tilting her head. Wasn't it just last night that Clary had saved her ass? Had held her hair while she puked up everything she had? And here she was acting like Clary's entire life was so beneath her to be dealing with. 

"I'd watch your tone if I were you." Isabelle warned in a low voice, narrowing her eyes at Clary. 

That definitely pushed a button. Clary straightened up to her full height of five feet and two inches, stepping purposefully toward Isabelle. Simon was still frozen with his "oh shitty shit" look. Jace looked on warily, screwdriver paused in midair. 

"Watch my tone?" Clary laughed. "This is my house. Bitch." She took two more steps forward, looking up into Izzy's angular face. The tall girl scowled down at Clary, blood red lips twisted into a look of disgust. 

"What the fuck did you just call me?"

"I called you a privileged, spoiled, bitch." Clary spit, baiting her. 

"White trash with daddy issues wants to accuse me of being a bitch? You wanna go there?" 

"Woah, woah, woah - " Jace began, but he was about a second too late. Clary's freckled hand shot out and popped Isabelle in the mouth with a loud, echoing smack!

Isabelle' lips formed a perfect "o" in the split second before she lurched forward, pinning Clary against the wall. Clary brought her arm up and over Isabelle's arm, slamming it down sharply and spinning out of her grasp. Self defense really had come in handy. 

Fueled by hurt and unable to cope with the stress she'd been laden with lately, Clary was temporarily blinded by anger as she grabbed hold of the other girl's long, dark hair and yanked viciously. A handful of strands came out in her hands as Isabelle cried out. 

Clary didn't see the fist coming, but she sure as hell felt it. It hit her right beside the eye, knocking her to the ground with a yelp. 

Jace was already on Isabelle, straight-jacketing her as he wrapped his muscular arms around from behind her, dragging her back. 

"Don't you ever touch me again you ginger bitch!" Isabelle screeched venomously as Simon rushed to Clary's aid and she simultaneously screamed, "Get out of my house you fucking whore!" 

Clary clutched a hand to her eye and Simon squatted on the ground beside her looking like he had simultaneously won the lottery and also had his toes run over. Extremely unsure how to react. 

"I was just trying to help your sorry ass, but fuck it! Just fuck it, and you!" Isabelle spat as Jace began dragging her toward the door, a look of determination and incredible irritation on his features. 

"I don't need your fucking help, actually! Not everyone worships the goddamn ground you walk on, Isabelle!" 

"Fuck - !" Jace slammed the door forcefully behind them. 

It was silent for several long moments inside the apartment, aside from the muffled ruckus going on outside. 

The silence was eventually broken by Simon. 

"Uhh..." 

"Just go get me some ice." Clary snapped, laying back on the floor. 

"Okay." Simon jumped up hastily, eager for something to do. Boyish excitement and loving concern still fighting for control in his mind. He had just seen the most epic catfight ever go down between the two hottest girls he knew. But then again, now those two hot girls would be sad and angry and upset and that would not be good for anyone involved. At all. Especially since he lived with one of them. He slammed the frozen peas down onto the counter.

"Chicks, man." He mumbled under his breath, trudging back into the living room.


End file.
